


Of Hearts And Bullets

by lilidelafield



Series: Katiya [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7893280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I want to thank Katbybee for her encouragement.</p><p>The Ice Prince has lost his heart...What else will he lose?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ILLYA - All About Claire

CHAPTER ONE

ILLYA - ALL ABOUT CLAIRE

Napoleon was staring at me. He was clearly in shock. His face had turned grey, and his eyes wide and wild.

"Wha…wha…did I hear you right? You're going to transfer out of section two? Why, Illya?"

I'd been dreading this moment. I had known I would have to tell my partner sooner or later, and I owed it to him to make it sooner. Neither would it have been fair for him to have heard it from anyone other than from me… but seeing his reaction…this was the hardest moment of my life I think. I wanted to run and hide from those pained eyes, but I couldn't put this moment off any longer. I ignored the somersaults in my gut and took a deep breath, praying that he would understand.

"It's the rules, Napoleon. I have no choice. I'm taking over as the head of science and development."

"Rules? Illya, I don't understand this. What are you not telling me?"

I swallowed a huge lump in my throat. This was a great deal harder than I had imagined. My heart was breaking at the expression on my partner's face; almost as if I was betraying him.

"It's Claire, Napoleon. We only had a couple of dates, but we both already knew it was special between us."

Claire Buchanan had moved into the apartment below mine several months earlier, and we hit it off right from the start. She was a very beautiful Scottish girl with thick wavy brown hair, and soft brown eyes that sparkled and laughed all the time. She was clever and kind. Her first reaction on learning that I am from the Soviet Union was to smile radiantly and ask me where can she buy herself a genuine ushanka? I must have looked surprised, because she had grinned at me and told me she loved winter hats and collected them. She then took me into her apartment and showed me her hat collection. She had 67 woolly winter hats, but not a ushanka among them. I gladly gave her one of mine.

She was one of those women that was easy to talk to, and asked many intelligent questions; not personal or probing in any way; but the kind that tend to give one an insight into your personality. Then I took her for a welcoming drink, and before I realized what was happening, we were getting very close. I immediately had apologized to her and explained that my job was such that personal relationships were impossible. Not really to my surprise, she took it well, thanked me for being honest and we continued to be friendly neighbours. Napoleon had known about her of course; he had even met her, but neither of us had mentioned her since Claire and I stopped seeing each other.

"I thought you two broke it off months ago."

I nodded.

"We did, but I dream about her every night, and each time I dream about her being with someone else, I wake up sweating and crying. Claire has been going through the same thing. Neither of us can stand it anymore, Napoleon. I just can't let her go. I love her more than I could have ever believed possible. She is the first person I have felt this strongly for since I lost Elinor."

I paused at that moment. I still feel the same pang of grief whenever I think of my beloved Elinor, and my little boy, Dimitry. I thought I spied a slight twinge of sympathy in his eyes. He had, after all, once been married himself, and lost her. He knew what that pain was like.

"Napoleon, I can't bear to live without her in my life…even if that means leaving you and section two. I'm so sorry that I am hurting you, Napoleon. Neither of us meant for this to happen, but I need her. I really want to marry her and grow old with her by my side."

Napoleon smiled warmly. I was almost fooled, but I know him very well, after all. I could still see the pain in his eyes. The look of hurt betrayal had abated somewhat, but the pain was still there. I noticed too that his hands were very slightly trembling.

"Claire said yes? Did you go down on one knee? All the works?"

I nodded, but I couldn't stop watching his face. He turned from grey to red, and then white. Whatever was on the suave surface, I was certain that my news had hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks. He took my hand and shook it vigorously…slightly too vigorously.

"I'm happy for you. Congratulations."

"Are you really, my friend?"

I could see that Napoleon was aware that I wasn't fooled. We had been partners for three years after all. We knew each other well…maybe too well by this time. His smile became bittersweet.

"Yes Illya, I am very happy for you. I am desperately unhappy for me, but I would love to see you truly happy. Have you chosen the day yet?"

"One month from Saturday."

"So I have you as my partner for just one month more?"

"Yes."

Now here was the crunch. The moment for him to not only accept my marriage, but put his own very public blessing on it. Would he be able to? To be honest, if our positions had been reversed, I might have found it a struggle. As it was, I had a little trouble getting up the courage to ask him.

"Um…Napoleon, I…would you…you are my best friend and I wanted to ask if you…that is…"

In spite of his feelings, Napoleon started to grin widely. I breathed deeply and tried again, managing to sputter out…

"Will you be my best man?"

This time his grin was real and genuine. He even looked pleased.

"Illya, I would be honoured. Will this be a traditional Russian wedding?"

I shook my head.

"I could not possibly afford that, and I could not possibly drop something like that on her parents. What we want is a very simple wedding like the one I once attended in England. The two of us with our closest friends at a registry office, followed by a meal at our favourite restaurant."

"Is Claire happy with that?"

I nodded, feeling my grin widen.

"It's what we both want. We did spend a lot of time talking about it. She asked about the Russian traditions, but the thought of the celebration lasting two days or more is a little too much even for Claire."

I took in his slightly withdrawn face, and my fears for him rose again.

"Are you going to be all right, Napoleon?"

Napoleon let out a noise that was obviously intended to be a laugh.

"Do you have that report for me by the way?"

I stared at him, momentarily floored by the sudden change of subject, and nodded.

"Uh, yes, it's down in the lab. I'll fetch it."

I suspect the change of topic was his way of getting me out of the way for a bit so that he could have a bit of space to come to terms with my news in his own way. I took my time returning to our office, and when I arrived, he had left me a note saying that he had gone down the block to the coffee shop if he was needed, and would be back in an hour.

I tried to imagine the thoughts that might have been going through his head. I knew what would have been in mine if I faced a future in the field without Napoleon to back me up. We knew how the other worked, we were able to combine operations almost without having to confer. We had an instinct where the other was concerned, and that, I guess, is how we had managed to stay alive so long. I couldn't help worrying about who my replacement might be and whether or not they would be up to the job of watching Napoleon's back. He is not the easiest man to protect, after all.

They say time flies when you are having fun, and for the next month, in between missions, my time was so taken up with my fiancée, buying outfits and making preparations, booking our honeymoon, that before we knew it the day itself had arrived.

I must say I'm not sure what I would have done without my partner. He decided that part of his wedding gift would be to splash out on the kind of wedding reception he felt we deserved, and he went ahead and booked a beautiful room at a local hotel, with silver service to go along with it. I was embarrassed and pleased at the same time, and tried to argue, but I hadn't the heart to really protest. If he was going to lose me, he told me, he was going to lose me in style. It meant we were able to invite all of Claire's relations who were living in the US.

That meant her two brothers Joel and Andrew, her younger sister Jeanie; her parents Max and Gloria, her grandparents Don and Sophia, her elderly uncle Jim and her closest friend from school Elaine who was to be her maid of honour. My guest list consisted solely of my closest friends, Napoleon, Mark, April and Mister and Mrs Waverly. Just eighteen people in all.

I must say my bride was stunning. She wore a period style gown in a beautiful ivory brocade fabric, her hair curled and piled loosely on her head with a tiara that set off her brown curls and her sparkling eyes. I felt pale by comparison, and nervous that this might all turn out to be some kind of a dream. Napoleon stayed right by my side where I needed him, and stepped back as my bride, my beautiful, wonderful Claire came up to stand beside me.

Then it was over. The registrar declared we were husband and wife, and Claire and I were kissing passionately, forgetting that we weren't alone. I tried to reassert my usual stern `ice prince' face, but Claire Kuryakin was having none of it. She pinched my bum, and grinned at me when I found myself blushing. We stepped together out of the building. The reception was just two blocks away, so Napoleon and I figured we would walk the two blocks, with Claire and I leading the way in a triumphal procession. My wife slipped her arm through mine and I squeezed with my elbow. She was mine now, my wonderful, darling Claire. She smiled her radiant smile at me again, and we started down the steps…

Suddenly, I was aware of a volley of shots coming from somewhere nearby, a lot of people screaming, and Claire loosened her hold on my arm. I looked round, for a crazy moment thinking she must have run for it, but everyone was on the ground. A second volley, and suddenly I was down, a searing pain on the side of my head. The last thing I saw as I lost consciousness was my beautiful bride lying on the ground at the foot of the steps, a large red stain covering the front of her lovely gown…


	2. NAPOLEON - All About What Happened Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon's account of the wedding and what happened next. Did Illya and Claire survive?

The wedding ceremony was everything we had planned. It went off very well. I had the impression from my partner's face, that he half expected his bride to do a runner at the last minute instead of showing up. He looked so relieved when Claire turned up, I almost laughed. Almost.

There was a moment I think when Illya's nerves did get the better of him when he was asked; "Will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?", instead of the expected response "I do" he said "Da!". That caused a few chuckles. The registrar felt obliged to remind him to reply in a language everybody could understand; Illya blushed and apologized and said "I do!" in English. So then when the bride was asked the same question, with an impish grin, she too said "Da!" then smiled, and followed it up with "I do with knobs on!" The registrar became quite put out and reminded the bride and groom that embellishments are not required or desired thank you very much.

Illya had bought a ring for Claire, but he had only just been able to remove from his finger the ring that he had worn for his first wife, Elinor, and I think he felt that he could not bear to wear it again for another woman, or any ring. I did feel for him. He wasn't even sure completely why he felt wrong about wearing a ring for Claire when he had been fine about it with Elinor, but I never told him. I knew Claire would help him work it out. She was a clever girl, that one; and although I hated to admit it, she would be good for Illya.

None of us dreamed that anything could go wrong on this day. We had planned everything so well…or I thought we had. Even UNCLE agents in the area patrolling as protection pretending to be ordinary passersby. Everything had been thought of. I thought. That was until Illya and Claire led our wedding party down the steps of the registry building. We were only supposed to walk the couple of blocks to the hotel and enjoy a lovely meal prepared for us by the hotel staff.

The first I knew was when someone opened fire with a machine gun, or that was how it sounded, and Claire dropped to the ground immediately, a huge hole through her stomach, gushing blood. The rest of us were still inside or standing in the doorway, and we all hit the floor, screams erupting from all directions. After a second I realized that Illya was still down there, looking dazed, until a second volley dropped him too with a nasty looking head wound.

I closed my eyes and gulped. A bride and groom shot dead on their wedding day. My best friend, a man who has saved my life on countless occasions, and I had just lain here and watched him be gunned down.

For several heartbeats, all I could do was lay there and mourn the loss of my friend and partner, and his new wife. Then common sense kicked in. Our agents outside were sending out fire of their own in the direction that they guessed the machine-gun fire had come from. They knew what they were about. For now, my job was to take care of these civilians. Once the last sound of the guns had died away, so did the screaming, and Mister Waverly got painfully to his feet.

"Come along up, my dear." He said to his wife, and he turned to the office staff, peeping fearfully from their various offices at the thoroughly disheveled wedding party.

"Do you have a medical room? Or a lounge of some kind where all these good people can sit down and try to stop shaking?"

Mark and April were nowhere in sight, so I knew they must have been outside, dealing with the carnage out there. I know it was cowardly of me, but right then I let them deal with it. I didn't want to have to look upon the broken figure of my partner…to know for sure that he had been murdered right in front of me, on his wedding day. I wrapped my arm around Claire's mother, who was crying and shaking. I knew Mister Waverly as the chief would have taken it upon himself to call into headquarters for backup and medical assistance, and for ambulances to attend the scene. I conferred with him anyway, but typical of the old man, all of that was already well in hand. He had dealt with as much and more during the two world wars, and despite his rapidly advancing age, he was well up to the task. I was soon joined by other agents, section 2 and 3 as we comforted and helped the wedding party the best way we could until the UNCLE medical staff arrived at about the same time as a number of civilian ambulances.

I had spoken to everyone, assuring them that we would get them all to hospital to be checked and if nothing else, treated for shock. I gave them all the assurances I could with regard to such things as hotel and medical bills, and I made certain to impress upon Claire's family that Mister Waverly would remain in close contact with them regarding their daughter and son-in-law.

Suddenly, I was at a loose end. I wanted desperately to go outside and check on Claire and Illya, but dreaded what I might find. I found myself walking, or staggering might be closer, to the top of the steps, where the two young lovers had been laying, side by side. All that was left now was one ambulance, and a trolley with a figure covered with a sheet that was being loaded into the back of it.

Who was under that sheet? Did I want to know? A horrible feeling erupted suddenly from the pit of my stomach, and to my horror, disgust and chagrin, I dropped to my knees and began retching dryly. After a few seconds of empty retching however, I coughed and began to vomit violently. Someone crouched beside me with their arm about my shoulders until the spasm finally ended. I sat on the step, trying not to look at the enormous blood stain on the path at the bottom, and I could not stop the tears from falling.

"I failed them. I failed them!"

A comforting voice reassured me, the one whose arm had been around my shoulders. To my surprise it was Alexander Waverly.

"You have done no such thing, Napoleon." He said in a husky voice. "Nothing could have foreseen this, and…"

"I should have been out here taking care of Illya and…"

"Stop this Mister Solo!" he snapped sharply at me. "You had other guests to care for, not just…" he stopped himself, and continued more calmly. "Not just the bride and groom. Everything that can be done will be done. You're in shock. Now let the doctor give you something, and then…"

I shook my head.

"No, I have to go…" I started to get to my feet, but Waverly pulled me back down.

"Napoleon, Agents Slate and Dancer are with them. Illya and Claire are both still alive…for the time being at least. I've just had a call from Mister Slate to tell me that we had only one casualty; one of the section three agents patrolling outside. Claire is in surgery for serious gunshot wounds to her abdomen, but she is still alive at the moment. Illya is still unconscious. He was shot in the head, but the bullet merely grazed his skull, caused a nasty wound which bled a lot, but otherwise he will be fine. Now you've had a nasty shock just like everyone else here. You are no use to me going off half-cocked! Let the medical staff do what they can for you, and presently you and I will go to the hospital together."

I would like to say that I was all suave and clever as I usually try to be, but I have to admit, Mister Waverly was right, as always. I was badly in shock. The fact that I threw up proves it I guess. My hands were shaking. I was angry at myself for reacting like this. I was a section two agent after all! I dealt with guns and death as part of my job! What business did I have going to pieces now, when I was needed most?

I tried to say all this, but I guess I didn't get very far. Mister Waverly gave me a smile that somehow made me feel very young, and he squeezed my shoulder as he got to his feet.

"It's harder for all of us Mister Solo when something like this strikes so close to us. Especially when we are not expecting it."

He led me inside and put me into the care of one of our UNCLE nurses, Nurse Cora, who wrapped a blanket around me, pressed a small glass of water in my hands and made me sit down and lean back. Around the room, all the guests were being treated for shock, the female guests; Claire's mother and grandmother, and her maid of honour were all crying, out of mixed fear and shock…

Sorry, I'd rather not dwell on this part any longer. I still have a lingering feeling of anger at myself for being so helpless as well as the gunman for opening fire on a group of harmless civilians attending a wedding. Suffice it to say, we all ended up going to the hospital; either to be treated for shock or minor injuries, or to be there for Claire who by now was in intensive care, and for Illya, still unconscious in recovery.

Waverly and I made sure that the Buchanan family were all taken care of. Mrs. Waverly herself took care of Claire's grandparents and her elderly uncle Jim, and volunteered to take them back to the Waverly home herself, where she would be able to make them comfortable whilst they waited for news. The other guests, Max and Gloria Buchanan and their two sons, plus Claire's school friend maid of honour Elaine Schlepp came with Waverly and I in two ambulances, whilst several section three agents followed in a convoy of UNCLE cars.

We were separated when we arrived, and we were all assessed for injuries. It wasn't until then that I learned that I had suffered a minor shrapnel wound to my face, chips of stone from the wall flying about from the gunfire had been going in all directions, and it bled quite badly when it was removed. I thanked the staff as patiently as I could and insisted that they allowed me to leave. As I joined Mister Waverly in the doctor's office, I was absurdly aware of the dressing on my cheek, moving as I talked. I could see it out of the corner of my eye. It's funny how your mind sometimes in the midst of the worst horror can latch on to something minor and insignificant. I remember wondering at the time whether the shrapnel wound would leave me with a permanent scar, and if so, what effect would it have upon the ladies? I knew what Illya's response would have been. One of his infamous eye-rolls. I had to see my partner. I had to, right now.

Even now someone was trying to stop me from reaching my partner. A doctor someone or other, and then it was a nurse. I had to fight to control my anger. Could this day get any worse? It might if Illya woke up and found that I was not there beside him. Then a thought struck me.

Would he wake up and expect to see me as always? Or would he be expecting to see his new wife?

As I reached the final barrier, our own section three agents on guard outside his room, Mister Waverly stepped in. If he hadn't, I might have finished up knocking someone down. But finally I was in Illya's room. A disapproving nurse glared at me from across the room, but said nothing. I pulled up a chair and took his hand in mine. Would he be pleased to see me or disappointed that I was not Claire? I swallowed a huge lump as I realized that I did not have an answer to my question. Still Illya slept on.


	3. APRIL - Mostly Concerning Pain and Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain and anger starts to build when Illya finds out what has happened to his wife . . .

APRIL – Mostly Concerning Pain and Anger

It must have been one of the hardest…and longest days of my life. I have seen my friend Napoleon upset, hurt and anguished when things happen to his partner, and let's face it, it is natural. I am no different when my partner Mark gets hurt, and he, me.

This though…Illya has always been so hard to fathom and impossible to penetrate. When I first learned that he was getting married, I was ecstatic! All right, I was devastated that he would have to leave section two, but forget that. That's just a job at the end of the day. He was a guy who always seemed to be on the verge of being a happy man but never quite able to banish the demons from his past. Now he had found a woman who found the chink in his defences, but instead of prizing them open and peering in, she had stood back and let him open his own heart to her. If anyone could make him a truly happy man, it was Claire.

Neither Illya or Napoleon know this…well, until now that is, but I happened to bump into Claire a few months after she and Illya had broken up, but long before they got back together again. She had confided in me that she was head over heels in love with him, and terrified that he might lose interest or find someone else. He had not told her where he worked or anything, but he had told her that his position would change on his fortieth birthday and thereafter he would be free to live his private life anyway his wished. She had been willing she said, to wait for him for as long as it took, but she was not sure she would still be sane by then. When I asked her what she meant, she told me then that she was dreaming every single night of Illya. In her dreams, either he was killed, or he was whisked away to the alter by some other young bride and it was starting to get to her. She told me she had considered telling him, but she refused to do that because it would put unfair pressure on him!

How they got together in the end I don't know. I never got the chance to ask Claire, and…well, that is one of Illya's private memories now that I don't want to invade.

As you might have already gathered, there was no good news about poor Claire. She was wheeled out of surgery and they did everything they could for her, but she was so badly hurt, the surgeons told me that her chances were no better than very slim.

Mister Waverly and some of Claire's family arrived after that, so Mark and I got out of the way and started going round the section three agents acting as sentries. The one guarding Illya's room told us almost indignantly that Mister Solo was in the room now with Mister Kuryakin, and that Solo had threatened to knock him down if he didn't let him pass. Apparently Mister Waverly had finally come along and made it an order. At that moment, Mark's communicator beeped. It was Mister Waverly. He gave us the news that Mrs. Claire Kuryakina had just passed away without waking up.

I glanced apprehensively at my partner. I felt like I been kicked in the belly. How on earth was Illya going to get through this latest heartbreak? Mark and I both had to swallow our personal feelings at this point, because the order had been given that we were to pass on the news to Napoleon. Which of us was to be blessed with the task? Without making any conscious decision, we pushed open the door, and both of us crept in. Napoleon looked up.

"Hey you two. How is Claire doing?"

Napoleon saw us glance at each other, and I sat on my heels and let my right hand rest lightly on his left knee. He stared at my hand for more than ten seconds, and then he sucked in a sudden shaky breath, and he rested his forehead on Illya's hand. His shoulders were shaking. It was the first time I ever saw Napoleon cry.

I glanced at Mark.

"When Illya wakes up, he will want to go and see her I expect…might be as well to find where she is, perhaps they'll let her stay where she is until…"

Mark nodded, and vanished, I think, thankfully. I pulled up another chair and sat beside Napoleon, putting my hand on his back, just to let him know that I was there. He never even acknowledged me until Illya began to stir. Napoleon glanced at me, and made a movement with his eyes. One I understood well enough. This was a moment a section two and their partner needed privacy.

I can't possibly tell what happened in that room between Napoleon and Illya. The duty nurse, no doubt realizing the tragic news that had to be delivered, had temporarily made herself scarce, and I stood outside the door beside security, feeling tired and sick. Sick in stomach and in soul. Section two agents were out now, scouring the area around the registry building searching for the gunmen, or for signs of them, so for now until there was something more solid to go on, I was stuck there in the hospital feeling helpless and angry.

It can't have been more than three minutes after Illya had woken up, before the door flew open as though it had been kicked, and Illya came out with an expression on his face I had never seen before. It wasn't anger, or grief, or pain, and yet it was all three of those things, mixed in too with an equal amount of fear and confusion. He also looked like fifty wild horses would not stop him. Napoleon came out after him, jogging to keep up. To my shock, Illya came up to me and grabbed me, quite hard, by both arms.

"Where is she? Where is my wife? April, where is she!?"

"Illya, cool it. This is not April's fault!" Napoleon pleaded beside him. Illya seemed not to hear. I raised my hand.

"It's okay Napoleon. Illya, she was in the intensive care unit, next floor up. Mark's up there looking for her."

Illya was gone before I had even finished speaking. Napoleon paused briefly, locking gazes with me. He looked more upset than I had ever seen him.

"You remember Illya and his niece…I mean his daughter Katiya have been writing for the last three months, ever since we got back from Russia?"*

I nodded. I remembered. I was the one who had engineered the arrangement in the first place. Napoleon raised a sad smile.

"He wrote her in his last letter all about Claire, and how much he was looking forward to introducing them to each other one day. Now, next time he writes her he'll have to…"

He broke off, and turned away.

"I'd better follow and make sure he doesn't kill anyone."

I turned back to the section three man now guarding an empty room.

"You'd best stay put for the time being. Likely they'll sedate him and bring him back here. If not, I'll call you and let you know. Agent Whiting isn't it?"

"Yes ma'am." Whiting replied. I didn't feel up to smiling, so I gave him a nod, and hurried up the stairs. I opened my communicator.

"Open Channel D. Section one, Number one."

"Waverly here."

"Sir, Mister Kuryakin's awake. Mister Solo has given him the news, and he leapt out of bed and is heading upstairs fast."

Waverly acknowledged and signed off. He knew well enough why I had called him. He had no illusions about Illya being a good little agent and behaving himself. Illya was grieving desperately; quite understandably, he was angry, if anger could ever be a strong enough word for it. Righteous anger is powerful enough, but anger powered by grief can easily get out of control, and an out-of-control Illya is a very, very dangerous thing.

I found my partner upstairs outside the intensive care room where Claire Kuryakina still lay, the machines that had been trying to keep her alive now still and silent. Illya was bent over the bed, cradling her in his arms. I beckoned to Mark and Napoleon, and we closed the door ajar to give Illya a little privacy at this most personal time. Napoleon, I could see, was extremely worried about his partner, and although we were out of earshot, he kept watch through the glass door.

"What's he doing mate?" Mark whispered after a minute or two, rather tactlessly in my opinion. I rolled my eyes and Napoleon turned looking furious.

"His wife has just been murdered, Mister Slate. What would you be doing in his place?"

Mark shuffled his feet uncomfortably, and mumbled.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that. It's just that there is an escape ladder outside the window in there. If IK wants out, he's not gonna come back this way is he? With the three of us trying to make him be sensible and patient."

Solo frowned and turned back.

"Damn it! He's gone! Mark, April go the other way, try to find him. I'll follow him this way! Go!"

Napoleon entered the room and started down the fire escape. Mark made to run back down the corridor and stopped when he saw I wasn't following.

"April, we gotta move! We don't know what he'll do in the state he's in!"

I shook my head.

"Mark, he's upset and grieving. He's not a mad man. Not yet anyway. You go, I have an idea. I'll follow you if it doesn't pan out."

Mark nodded and disappeared. He clearly was puzzled, but at least he has learned to trust my intuition as I have learned to trust his. When they were gone, I crouched down below the level of the glass and waited. And waited.

I had just decided that I must be wrong after all when the IC door opened, and Illya's face peered out. I stood up and he scowled.

"Why can't you all just leave me alone?"

"You know why, Illya. I'm so sorry my friend. It's just so unfair. Where are her parents now?"

Illya stared at me, his eyes wide.

"They were here…the nurses that were taking care of Claire told me they left, but would be back…"

I spoke gently to him.

"Illya, isn't it likely they will have gone downstairs looking for you?"

"Max and Gloria…and Andy and Joel…and Ellie too…"

He slid down the wall, staring at me with his eyes wide and damp.

"What will I do without her, April?"

I had no answer for him. I sat beside him on the floor, and he put his head on my shoulder.

How long we sat there for I couldn't say, but after a few minutes, he raised his knees and rested his elbows on them, and cradled his head in his hands. I put my hand on his shoulder, uncertain quite how to treat him. Illya is not my partner, after all.

Mister Waverly arrived quite soon after that, and it was then I realized I had neglected to call Mark and Napoleon to tell them not to worry about Illya. Mister Waverly' s presence seemed to bring Illya out of his self-absorption. With him were Claire's parents and her two brothers; Illya's inlaws. Or would they have been ex-inlaws already, now Claire had gone? How unfair it is! Illya got himself to his feet, a mere shell of the man he had been only that very morning, and it seemed he could not bring himself to look into anyone's eyes.

Gloria Buchanan, poor woman, was sobbing pitifully, and when she saw Illya, she grabbed him without any awkwardness or embarrassment and hugged him closely, sobbing even harder. Max, her husband, a large man, around six and a half feet tall enwrapped the both of them in a hug whilst their sons, Andy and Joel stared looking miserably through the door at their sister still laying on the bed in the IC room. Mister Waverly touched my shoulder and motioned for me to follow him. Once we were out of earshot he smiled wanly.

"This is a moment for Mister Kuryakin to be with his family."

I looked at my boss, concerned.

"Sir, knowing Illya, will he accept them as his family? They seem to think a lot of him, but I imagine, knowing Illya, that he would find spending time with them will only remind him all the more of everything he's lost."

Waverly nodded sadly.

"You're probably right, but perhaps for now at least, they can help each other. Everything has been a shock, that is certain."

Mark came up, panting.

"We didn't find him! I suppose you knew where he was, did you April?"

"No, but I wanted to make sure he wasn't hiding in order to try and get away on his own. He's upstairs now with the Buchanans."

Mark nodded.

"That's a relief. I'll let Solo know he's safe."

"Mister Slate;" Waverly put in. "Please tell Mister Solo that I want to see him in five minutes in doctor Carrick's office. You two, stay here for now. Keep an eye on Mister Kuryakin. Make sure you know where he is at all times."

Mister Waverly hurried away, and Mark and I looked at each other.

"The old man is afraid Illya will go off on some rampage as soon as he can get away. You know what'll happen if he does take matters into his own hands without orders don't you?"

I nodded. Waverly would not be able to protect him. He would be at the least charged and sacked from UNCLE, and then probably kicked out of the country. If he returned to the Soviet Union having been sent home in disgrace, his own people would have him up before the firing squad.

Mark went off on another round of the UNCLE security men, whilst I stayed put at the foot of the stairs. Eventually, the sound of footsteps could be heard and I looked up into the eyes of Claire's two brothers. They nodded as they approached me, and Joel said;

"Friend of Illya? UNCLE wasn't it?"

I nodded.

"April Dancer. I'm a friend and a colleague. I'm so sorry about Claire. I know people are always saying it, but I do mean it…if there is anything I can do…?"

They looked at each other, and Joel nodded.

"I know he's a Ruskie an' all, but Illya's a really good bloke. Our Claire was a good judge of people, and she was dotty on him. Has been for over a year. Every time we saw her, Illya was all she could think about. Take care of him, Miss Dancer. He's in deep hole right now, and I hate to see that. He was so happy this morning, and now…" his voice broke and his brother clapped him on the shoulder.

"He's just saying, over and over again `this is the last time. Never again. I'll be alone if I have to, but it's never happening again!' What does it mean? Do you know?"

I felt the tears finally break free and roll down my face. I wiped them away hurriedly with the heel of my hand.

"Illya was married once before…he had a wife and son." I sniffed, and wiped more tears away. "Elinor and Dimitry drowned in the river Danube during a thunderstorm three years ago, just before Illya came to this country…just a tragic accident, but…"

The two men nodded sadly.

"That would explain why he's so closed up." Andy commented. "He's a widower twice over…how can any man deal with that? He'll die unmarried now, won't he? Thanks to our Claire?"

I shook my head.

"No, thanks to the maniacs who killed her. We'll get them, I promise you. We'll get them and make them pay."

Andy nodded.

"I believe you. That is just what Illya said…right before he went down the fire escape!"

 

* Reference The Lake Of Tears Affair


	4. ILLYA - Trying to Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya has walked out of the hospital. Will Napoleon catch up with him?

I've never told anyone this, and I wasn't going to, but I suppose now is the time to bare all. I mean if I have to talk about this, then I might as well, right? What I'm talking about is when I think of the word `wife', the face that comes into mind is Elinor. Elinor wasn't beautiful, not to other people, but to me she was the world. We had loved each other since we were young children, and being parted forcibly by the KGB changed nothing. We may have been forcibly divorced by the state, but as far as we were concerned, we were still husband and wife, with a lovely little boy to bring up.

I was looking forward to taking my son out and showing him the sights of Moscow, of showing him the places in Kyiv where I grew up, and teaching him the lessons I learned as a boy…the positive ones, anyway. Even though I saw him very rarely, he always knew who I was. His face lit up and he called me "Papa!" every time. I lost them one difficult and stormy day, the very day I had first met Napoleon. I rescued Napoleon from that torturous THRUSH dungeon a few miles outside Moscow, and almost the moment I returned, I received the news every husband and father dreads. They were both gone.

I never wept for them. It isn't that I didn't want to, but when I was with UNCLE Moscow, I did not have a single private place anywhere to go and grieve. I did not even have a bed to myself half the time. As soon as I got out, someone else got in it. That is in part why I have been very reluctant to get involved with any woman since. I never had the chance to mourn my wife, never really been able to accept the fact that I was never going to see her again. The thought of dating someone else made me feel like I was betraying her. That was, until Claire.

Claire was so easy to talk to. I wanted to tell her things, because…actually, I'm not sure quite why it was. We realized we liked each other very quickly, and she asked me openly if there was a reason why I was reluctant to see her socially a second time. So I explained about my wife and my son. She looked as upset as I felt, she took my hand, and then she put her arm around my shoulder, and it didn't feel wrong. It felt natural…like being…like being at home. Does that make sense?

Claire suggested I say goodbye to Elinor. When I reminded her that Elinor and Dimitry's graves were in Russia, she smiled and said "Why does that matter? The graves are there, but your wife isn't there is she? The woman you love is gone, so why does it matter where you say goodbye? Have your own memorial service for her somewhere here, somewhere you feel relaxed. Tell her how you feel about everything."

I asked Claire whether she thought Elinor would hear me and she shrugged. People, she said, have all different beliefs about that, but anyway a funeral was not for the dead person anyway. It was for the ones left behind to say a last goodbye. "It seems to me that you never got the chance to do that." She said.

Claire was right, so I followed her suggestion and went to my favourite place and…well, that's private. Anyway, it did seem to clear my head a little. This time I found the solitude I needed to vent in private, and I found myself looking forward to seeing Claire again.

I always enjoyed being a section two agent…when I wasn't being beaten up and humiliated by THRUSH that is, but when it came to choosing, section two or Claire? There was no comparison. As I said before though, the one thing that made it a wrench was having to leave Napoleon. I would have understood if he had been angry or hurt, and, well, he might have been, but if he did he never showed it. As a best man he was absolutely the best.

I knew exactly how my wedding day was going to go. After the service, we were going to lead our guests two blocks down the road to the hotel room we had booked, and enjoy a lovely meal specially provided by the hotel staff. Then we would have had a few speeches, and then Claire and I were going to be driven off in an UNCLE limousine to the airport where a pair of business class airline tickets were waiting to take us to England. We had arranged to have our honeymoon staying in a village hotel in the middle of the New Forest, and hire a car and tour on our own from there.

Instead, approximately the time we would have been half way across the Atlantic, I woke up in a semi darkened room, and rather than seeing my new wife beside me, it was Napoleon.

Napoleon's eyes were reddened and puffy, and I could see he had been crying. It wasn't difficult to guess.

"My wife? She's…?"

"She's gone. Oh god, Illya, I'm so sorry!"

I was shocked through and through. Without Claire, my life would be even emptier than before, only this time I would have a shattered soul to live with. But seeing Napoleon like that? The Napoleon that lives inside my head has a permanent cocky grin on his face. I've seen him in every sort of emotion, don't think I haven't, but somehow this was different. It was almost as if I was seeing my own emotions played out on his face. Like he was seeing my loss the way I was…Part of me wanted to hug him and reassure him, but the stronger half wanted to punch a hole in something…or preferably, someone!

I got out of bed. My partner didn't try to stop me. He knows me better than that by now.

Outside, I found I was in a hospital room. I marched out, ignored the section three man standing by and grabbed the first person that I saw, which happened to be April Dancer. I grabbed her by her elbows, and I have some recollection of bellowing in her face, "Where's my wife?" I heard the word `upstairs', and took off at a run, Napoleon trailing in my wake.

Why did I run? Was I of the opinion that I would arrive and find it had all been one cruel joke or something? I have never believed that it helped to go and see a loved one after death, so why was I so determined to find her? I still don't know, but what I do know is that I would do the same thing again. I crashed into the I.C room and saw her broken body on the bed. I was vaguely aware of someone closing the door behind me, but I stared at my wife's beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, and she looked like she was just sleeping. I silently begged her to open her eyes for me, but she did not.

I know you want me to tell you about the next few minutes, but I... I just can't. I don't suppose you'll have much trouble guessing how I spent them, but it didn't make anything easier. I felt like an explosion inside me was waiting to happen, and I knew I needed to get away alone. I didn't think I would ever be able to keep a lid on it. Napoleon, Mark and April were all outside, and I knew they would all try and get me to go back to bed. As if! So I hid in the cupboard.

All right, not very original, but it worked anyway. I peeped at Napoleon dashing out the escape and down the ladder, and the faces in the glass door were gone too. I finally figured I would be safe to make my escape from hospital the normal way…and ran right into April outside the door.

I was annoyed that she had second guessed me, but she is intelligent, and she thinks like Claire does…did. April showed me her genuine sympathy, and suddenly everything hit me. Everything was gone. My new wife, our holiday, our new home, my new job, possibly my old one, my whole life felt like it had imploded. I am ashamed to say that for a fleeting moment, all I wanted was to die myself, lie alongside her. The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the floor with my head on April's shoulder. I was glad she didn't say anything. The last thing I needed was sympathy, but she just sat there, comforting me with her presence.

Then it all erupted again. I just wanted to go home, and try to come to terms with what had happened in my own space and in my own time…until I remembered that I would have to walk past Claire's apartment en route to my own. Then her family were back, rowdy and weeping. I was enveloped in a group hug that I endured as long as I could. If this kept up I would lose control of myself. I was afraid that if let go of my emotions now, it would all come tumbling down. Not just Claire, but Elinor and Dimitry, my brother Mikhail a few months back, my sisters Liliya and Maya, and then later little Masha…

I know they all call me Iceman at work, or Ice Prince, and many think I have no feelings, that I am cold and emotionless. Of course I am not emotionless, like an automaton, but The Ice Prince is a protection. Napoleon knows that better than anyone. He is one of the few before whom I can let my guard down; and even then only a little.

It hurts Napoleon I know when I keep so many secrets from him about my past, when I know virtually everything about him; but it's the only way I can keep functioning. As a child, if I had been allowed to give way to tears whenever something happened to merit it, I would have spent nine-tenths of my life crying. Instead I learnt to stifle, repress or compartmentalize in order to survive. It may not have been the healthiest way to survive, but it worked. These days, now I have my own private space where no one may enter without my say so, it is easier to deal with things as they happen.

When the group hug started to loosen, I pulled away, and Max grabbed my arm. He looked ashen and shocked.

"Are you going to be all right, boy? You look like hell. You should still be recovering in bed yourself…"

I shook my head.

"After Claire was murdered beside me? On our wedding day? I swear to you Max, that whoever did this to us will live to regret the day he was ever born!"

Claire's brother Joel looked alarmed.

"Hey, Illya, where are you off to? What about your friends?"

"What about them? I swear I will find whoever did this and make sure they pay!"

Before anyone had the chance to grab me, and before I could change my mind, I re-entered the room, repeated my vow to my dead wife, and climbed out of the fire escape.

Now I was in trouble. I had let my emotions rule my head. I always get into trouble when that happens. I was out on the street, wearing a pair of pale blue hospital pyjamas and brown old-man slippers, with a bandage around my head. Who was I kidding? I would stand out like a sore thumb in this outfit, and how far was I going to get trying to get home dressed like this? I don't generally keep a wallet in my pyjamas after all. I considered going back, but the memory of my wife's dead face, and the memory of the love in her eyes the last time I had seen her alive decided me. I may look like an escapee from a lunatic asylum, but what did I have to lose?

I removed the bandage from my head, wincing as I inadvertently touched the wound, I ripped my pyjama legs off above the knee, hoping that they would pass at a distance for beach shorts, and making similar alterations to the pyjama top with the sleeves and removing the pocket, I kicked off the slippers and continued barefoot. Catching sight of myself reflected in someone's window, I knew that only a complete moron would be fooled by this outfit, but I was willing to give it a try. I did quite well. I walked several blocks, and was gone for ninety minutes before a felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Leave me Napoleon." I said without turning.

He came up and walked beside me.

"Illya, I supposed you were heading home, am I right?"

"You're a real genius."

"Since your clothes, wallet, keys and everything are back at the hospital, how were you expecting to get into your apartment?"

I stopped, furious that that had not even occurred to me. I turned my head, expecting to see a Napoleon know-it-all grin, but his face was deadly serious, and not a little sympathetic. I should have known he would not find anything amusing in any of this. I would have to make it up to him later for misjudging him. He reached into a pocket and brought out a key. The spare key to my apartment that I had given him some time after we had become partners. He handed it to me.

"You'll find this useful I think."

"Thank you."

I started walking again, and he kept pace beside me. He knew enough to refrain from commenting on my doctored pyjamas, although I could feel him eyeing them curiously as we walked.

Finally, inside my apartment, I looked him in the eye. He still looked grave and serious.

"So how did you find me?"

"When we realized you were gone, April called down to Agent Whiting and asked him to check your belongings were still in your room. When he called back that everything was still there, I figured you'd try and get home first for some clothes. Here, these are yours by the way."

He handed me everything I had had in my pockets; my handkerchief, my UNCLE communicator and I.D, my wallet and a piece paper I had written a few notes on for the speech I would have had to make as the groom…notes I would never need now. I froze when my fingers touched it, and suddenly in my mind I was back in her arms, and she was comforting me over losing Elinor. I could hear her voice in my head; "It isn't your fault Illya, you have to let go! Let go! Let go!"

Suddenly I dropped everything on the floor where I was standing and bolted for the bathroom. I only just made it. Napoleon was still there, right beside me, holding me tightly across the shoulders while I heaved and spewed the contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl, sweat breaking on my face and tears mingling with the sweat. Finally, the spasm ended and I wiped my face on the flannel and looked up at my partner, drawing my breath with difficulty.

"She's gone, Napoleon, she's gone! What do I do now? I can't…I don't want to…What's the point of anything now? I just…"

He grabbed my shoulders and made me look at him.

"Illya, Illya! ILLYA!"

Finally, I looked at him.

"Illya, you're losing control. You'd be better to cry and get it out of your system."

"I don't cry." I responded, rather unreasonably. A corner of his mouth quirked.

"I know, my friend, but you would feel better for it if you can. In the meantime you have to keep hold of what you still have."

I felt empty, literally as well as metaphorically.

"Like what? I've lost everyone and everything who ever meant something to me, Napoleon, I have nothing left!"

"Thanks."

He let go of me then and sat back against the wall, looking at me sadly. I realized then that I had inadvertently hurt him.

"Sorry my friend…I didn't mean…"

He leaned forward towards me slightly.

"Illya, you have lost a lot in your life, more than any one man ever should, but of course you haven't lost everything. You still have me. I'll be right here for as long as you need me…even if you think you don't need me. You still have your old job whenever you are ready…if you want it, and your old partner would welcome you back with open arms…there is also a lovely little girl who has lost almost everything in her life too…and the one thing she doesn't want to lose is her new papa…if you give up Illya, guess who will be the one to have to write to Katiya to tell her what has happened to her papa…"

I nodded. He was right, but right now I didn't want to let go of my grief. It was the grief that fueled my anger, and I felt right now that without my anger to keep me going I would just go to bed and sleep for a month. I needed my anger exactly where it was to get me through the next few days. I had made a vow and I intended to keep it. Napoleon nodded as though reading my mind.

"So you're determined to go through with it?"

"It?"

"Joel and Andy told me. You vowed to find these murderers, right?"

I nodded. No point in denying it.

"I Will. I need my anger Napoleon. Without it right now I will be too weak and I have to do this. There will be time to grieve later."

He nodded as though he had been expecting it.

"Very well my friend."

"You're coming with me?"

Napoleon smiled.

"What else are friends for?"

"What about Mister Waverly?"

"Oh, he knows. He guessed you'd run away as soon you had the chance."

"He told you to follow me?"

"No, Illya. I told him my place was by your side. He simply said `quite right, Mister Solo, but just make sure he doesn't do anything that would end up getting him deported. He is rather a valuable man to us. He's no use to anyone dead.'. So here I am."

"So together we get these…." I bit my tongue to stop myself using a colourful metaphor. Napoleon nodded.

"You and me, Illya. Agents Darkly and Fielding are on the case, and Agent Jackson of section three is helping them. Mark and April are standing by at the hospital, in case they try to follow you there for a second attempt."

"You think it was an attempt on me?" I asked him doubtfully. He shook his head.

"Actually, no. I think they succeeded in doing exactly what they intended. Disrupt the wedding, hopefully kill your bride and thereby lay a trap for you to come storming into."

I nodded.

"Lead on McDuff. I'm game if you are." I got up and headed for the front door. Napoleon called me back.

"Um, Illya, haven't you forgotten something?"

"What?"

"Hadn't you better get dressed first?"


	5. Mildy, Section Three - Just Doing My Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm Mike Mildenhall, Section three. I have an undercover protection detail this morning, come with me, just keep out of the way safely, if anything kicks off, okay?

Hello. You've never even heard of me I don't suppose? No I didn't think so. Well I have to leave now, so you can come with me, just stay out of the way if anything does kick off, yeah?

Okay. Well, for starters my name is Mike Mildenhall, and I have just transferred to section 3 from research. Odd, yeah, maybe, but I'm really happy. I'll never get to section two, coz I'm married. My wife Suzie has just had twins! Yeah, I'm a proud dad of twins. We called them Jack and Julia. (No we weren't even tempted to call our daughter Jill! We're not that cruel!) Anyway the increase in salary has come in mighty handy just recently. I've only been doing easy errand boy stuff so far, but that's okay by me. I'm getting paid, and I'm doing my little bit to make society a better place.

Today we're on a protection detail…well, sorta. I'm just providing one of a half a dozen pairs of eyes just keeping a lookout for anything odd happening on street level. Section two are covering the higher echelons…you know, roof-tops and windows of buildings that kind of thing. I have my gun fully loaded, and two extra clips… you never know when you might need 'em.

What's happening is that a lot of the women here are getting their hearts broken today, coz our resident Russian is getting hitched! Yeah, Mister Illya Kuryakin himself gets married today. His partner, our CEA Napoleon Solo is best man, and inside security is being covered by Slate and Dancer. All vital I guess, coz the old man himself is a guest at this wedding. Mister Waverly himself, which means if THRUSH ever find out about today's caper, we can expect fireworks!

My job today is probably the simplest. I gotta walk the length of the street, dressed in these paint splattered overalls…notice I remembered to splash some paint on my hands and shoes? Once I get around the far corner, I collect my ladder and return with it. Then I change clothes, collect a pretend girlfriend (Miss Rogers on this occasion) and we stroll back like star-crossed lovers. God help me if Suzie sees me in Lisa's arms! Anyway, let's go and we'll make it casual.

It's pretty warm out today, and I can't see anything out of the ordinary. I know there are several other section three people on the same detail as me, but funny, shouldn't I recognize them? Well if they blend in so that I can't spot them, then THRUSH won't see them either. That's Mister Solo and Mister Darkly organized us all. Did good I reckon.

Half way now, just passing the steps leading to the door of the registry building, but on the other side of the road. No one is looking…except me, no one loitering, no one even standing smoking in a doorway anywhere…perhaps that is odd in itself? Wherever you walk down a street you get someone dragging on a cigarette or something, right?

You'd better keep right back out of the way, coz something ain't right here. I hear a soft bleep. My communicator is hiding up my sleeve. I pretend to scratch my nose so's I can answer it. It's Darkly.

"Mildy, anything your end?"

"Sam, nothing here…but it's too quiet. I don't like it. Looks like our people are the only people here, and that's wrong!"

"You may be right. I'll check the lookouts. Try and keep one eye looking up as well if you can, huh? All helps."

"Gotcha Guv."

You know that's one of the things I like about working for UNCLE. Everyone respects my opinion. We all have experience in something or other, even if it's only in life itself, but no one ignores it if I am suspicious. Even if I am wrong, they figure better safe than sorry. I feel the same way about my colleagues, and together we get the job done. I start sweeping my eyes up as well as around, and nothing. But it's still too quiet for a Friday morning.

I reach my corner, bustle into the builder's yard and find my ladder is waiting for me. Wow, it's huge! How the hell am I gonna move that monstrous great thing all by myself?

I struggle to move it and it falls to the ground with a clatter that echoes loudly. I am cursing and struggling, but I see it's one of them folding ladders, and it has another extension that can be folded in. Once that is done, it's still darned heavy, but not quite so unwieldy. I hoist it under my arm, but I still have to hold on with both arms. This will be a perfect excuse for my not hurrying. No way could I hurry carting this lumbering thing along with me. I start back on my way down the road, back past the registry building again and towards the UNCLE lorry.

It's very slow going, and I'm breaking out in a sweat. I had been warned the ladder was big, but honestly man, there's `big' and there's `BIG'!

I am still remembering to keep my eyes open all around, slowing down naturally as my burden gets slowly heavier and heavier. I am glancing towards the main doors of the registry building now and I can see movement. If anything if going to kick off, it'll be about now, because the wedding party are about to come out.

Much as I would love to feast my eyes on that beautiful new wife of Illya's, I put my ladder down and flex my arms as an excuse to take a good long look around.

I see a flash of movement high up and I shout loudly and start shooting upwards at the same moment as the report of a machine-gun starts. From the corner of my eye I see the bride drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and the machine guns stops. Did I hit the…the person? God, I hope I did! I shout and point up, but I am running towards the wedding party where everyone is now taking cover on the ground…except Kuryakin, who seems like he's in a daze.

It has only been about five seconds, but it feels like an hour. I am running across the road it feels like in slow motion. Get down! I shout to him, then suddenly the sound of a machine gun is starting again but from somewhere else…I shoot in the likely direction, still running and heading for Kuryakin. Then I see him drop, blood on his head. Oh god, no, we failed! We failed him, both he and his bride, we failed and they're both dead!

I reach the corner of the building, my fellow agents are shooting upwards, and I see a head poking up briefly. I think I am the only one to see. I raise my gun and take aim…Just as I pull my trigger I feel like a train has hit me from behind, and suddenly I am lying on the road, staring at the tarmac. I try to get up, but I can't move. Oh god, I'll end up on sick now, and Susie will…wait…I can't see. Everything is going dark, and the pain! I can't stand the pain, up my back, through me, all over me…I can feel the beating of my heart, and the road is feeling sticky with my blood…no, please, not now. I'm not ready yet! I…I don't…want…to…


	6. NAPOLEON - Trying To Keep Illya in Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was having trouble controlling my angry and grief-stricken partner whilst at the same time investigating who was behind the shooting...

The day of my partner's ill-fated wedding is a day neither of us will ever forget. Looking back now, the sun was out, it was warm but not too warm, there was a pleasant breeze in the air, everything seemed set to go well. I shall never forget that moment after the shooting had all stopped, and our men had gone charging off looking for the snipers, I stepped outside and saw a dead body covered in a sheet being loaded into the back of the ambulance to be taken away to the UNCLE morgue.

At first, as you know, I had assumed it was Illya…I shall never forget the feeling that ran through me at that moment. I will always feel deeply ashamed at the relief I felt when I learned that the man who died was not Illya, but one of our new section three men, Michael John Mildenhall. Known to his colleagues as Mildy.

Mildy was a tragic loss to everyone. Everyone at HQ liked the guy. He was down to earth and likeable, a family man who cared deeply about people. He was also a damned good shot. A crack shot. There is no doubt at all that he was definite section two material. Only the fact that he was married with kids on the way prevented him from being recommended as a field agent. The sad thing is, he never lived to know it. His colleagues all tell me he took great pride in the job he was doing. He never looked for promotion or recognition. He just went out of his way to help and back up all his colleagues.

Anyhow, that day was a strain on everyone. I set myself to stay by Illya's side, just in case he found himself tempted to take matters into his own hands, and by the light in his eyes and the set of his jaw, I realized I might have a struggle on my hands just keeping up with him.

I was worrying about him, I must admit. I vomited when I believed he was dead, he had the same reaction when the reality hit him that he had truly lost Claire. He was running now on anger fueled by his grief, to my mind a dangerous combination for anyone, but especially for someone as potentially dangerous as Illya. He left his apartment with me jogging behind him, and the door to the elevator was half-way closed before I got anywhere near it. In the elevator, he prowled around like a caged lion.

"Illya, do you know where you are going first?"

"Yes. Back to the scene of the shooting."

"Do you think that is wise?"

"Yes, if I am going to find the…gentlemen behind all this!"

"Illya, stand still for a minute and listen to me. You need to do this, I get that, but you are going to have to disengage your emotions if you want to think straight. Our people have already been all over the ground. You won't learn anything new. Why not slow down and let them give you what they have before you start charging off like a maniac?"

Finally, he stood still and looked at me. Usually I was the one charging off on some half-baked scheme with Illya tagging along after me. Everything I had been saying to him, he had used on me on more than one occasion. I could see that intelligence of his had not been completely buried beneath the grief and the shock. He nodded.

"Perhaps you had better call them? They might hesitate to tell me anything."

I nodded and took out my communicator.

"Open channel D. Darkly."

"Darkly here, sir."

"Solo. What have you found?"

"Two dead gunmen, sir."

I locked gazes with Illya who looked, frankly, shocked.

"How many gunmen were there? Have you been able to work it out?"

"Yes Mister Solo. The wedding party, including Mister Kuryakin, Mrs. Kuryakina and the chips from the stone wall around the doorframe show the bullets were from machine guns on two locations; one directly in front of the building, and the other about forty-five degrees to the right of the first. A third gunman formed a crossfire. It was the third gunman that shot Mister Mildenhall in the back, sir. We've worked out where that sniper must have been situated, but he's moved out. We've blocked it off. I thought maybe you would want to take a look at the site yourself, sir."

"I do. Any indication as to whose bullets killed the first two snipers?"

"The first had seven bullets, one of mine, one of Mildy's, one each from Fielding, Dancer and Slate, and two from Jackson. The second gunman died from a single bullet in his forehead, a perfect shot."

"Whose shot was that?"

Here, Darkly paused, and I thought I heard him gulp slightly.

"It was Mildenhall's bullet, sir. I saw the shot. He pulled the trigger at the same moment as he was shot himself. He never even knew…"

To my shock, Darkly's voice cracked. I took a deep breath.

"Good job Mister Darkly. Mister Kuryakin and I are on our way there right now. Have you reported to Mister Waverly?"

"Just about to, sir."

"Good. I would like you to bring Slate and Dancer up to speed too, so that when they are finished at the hospital, they can join in the investigation."

"Sir."

I closed my pen device and we hurried to the car. To my consternation, Illya leapt automatically into the driver's seat.

"Are you fit to drive?" I asked him. He said nothing, but fixed me with a subzero glare that dared me to say any more. I nodded slightly. I would sooner be driven at breakneck speed through afternoon rush-hour traffic in New York rather than argue with my partner in this mood anyway. I got in the passenger seat and belted myself in tightly. Illya glared at me again, and I shrugged.

"I'll let you drive, Illya, just make sure we arrived in one piece, all right?"

Illya did not reply, but careened through the streets at the top legal speed possible and reached the scene of the shootout within ten minutes. He screeched to a halt, and the car skidded sideways for several feet before it slowed to a halt. Illya was out of the car and striding up to the UNCLE personnel dotted nearby even before the car had stopped moving. I found myself making the car safe, and once again running after him panting to catch up. If he kept this up…for now I decided to keep my mouth closed.

I found the agents working on the forensics tight-lipped and stubbornly refusing to reveal any information to the angry Russian. I could see my partner starting to vent steam. I hurried over. The agent, Timothy Hallows appealed to me as soon as I was within hearing.

"Mister Solo, please tell him I will lose my job!"

Illya closed his eyes and spoke through clenched teeth.

"If you do not start talking, you are going to lose a lot more than your job!"

Determined for the time being to keep things as easy as possible, I gave a tight-lipped smile and clapped Illya on the shoulder, gesturing to him with my eyes to back off. He treated me to his famous eye-roll, but he backed off with a loud huff.

"You have to make allowances for my partner, Tim. He's not having a very good day…"

Tim looked contrite.

"I…sorry, sir, I understand. It's just UNCLE regulations sir, and I…"

"Not to worry, you were quite right Tim, but Mister Kuryakin is with me, observing the investigation, and I need you to talk to me."

With an eye on my partner, Agent Hallows began to talk, rather hurriedly.

"Well, this area has been secured and signed off, now sir. Nothing very complex…begging your pardon, sir, but we've matched the various bullet casings to the two guns. We have our people examining the sites where the gunmen where sitting, looking for anything to indicate where they came from, and right now, Miss Rogers is working on the identities of the two men, and where they come from."

"So with any luck, we should get some good leads. Thanks Tim."

I turned towards my partner, only to find him standing so close beside me that I jumped a foot in the air.

"Oh! Illya!"

"Agent Hallows;" Illya said in a voice that was clearly intended to be normal and friendly, but sounded instead slightly strangled.

"Please can you tell us where to find Agent Darkly?"

Hallows raised a thin finger and pointed down the street. Illya turned abruptly and was gone. I offered Hallows a grateful smile, and once again hurried after him.

I fell in step beside my partner, and caught a glimpse of the grim, set face, and I knew instinctively that Darkly was in for the next bout of Russian abuse. Better to clear the air now, or I would have to send him back to the hospital for everyone else's safety, with a guard to stop him escaping. I took his elbow and propelled him out of sight and earshot into a deserted alley.

"Get off me Napoleon!"

Okay, those icy eyes pierced me then too, and they hurt. They really hurt. I wanted to be hard on him. I needed to be actually, because his behaviour was completely out of order; but how could I for heaven's sake? The poor guy had just lost his wife, less than five minutes after the ceremony! He glared at me, but I stood my ground and gave him my full official stern, CEA look. Usually that did make him back down. Illya is a man to obey orders, after all. That's the way he was raised and trained at home. Not this time though.

"Illya, you need to cool it. You keep behaving like a one-man vice squad, a man like Tim Hallows will be scared, he will cling to his rule book and if necessary run to a higher authority. You try it on a section two man, someone like Sam Darkly, you know exactly how far you'll get."

Illya growled at me. A terrifying sound usually, but I know him well enough not to let that make me back down. I shook my head.

"Illya, you have every reason to be shocked, and grieved and angry, but you have a keep a lid on it! You have to, because if you don't, if I am not able to keep you on a reasonable leash, Waverly will turn you over to psychiatric. You know I'm right."

Illya mumbled something I didn't quite hear and started to walk away. Damn the man, he was forcing my hand. Hadn't he promised that he would toe the line? I grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Illya, stop! It's okay to be angry, when you use your anger to help you stay focused, but you are letting it control you, you are going to end up…"

I got no further, as he shrugged me off angrily and gave me a hard shove. That small Russian is stronger and harder than he looks, you know. I went flying backwards and lost my footing…and blacked out.

When I opened my eyes again, I felt like a dozen rampaging horses had been dancing on my head. Illya was crouching over me, and hovering behind him was Mark Slate and Sam Darkly. I struggled to focus and looked at my partner. His eyes were full of pain and sorrow.

"I'm so sorry my friend. Please forgive me."

"What happened?"

"I pushed you, you overbalanced and fell over backwards. You hit the back of your head against the wall."

I touched my sore head with a tentative hand and winced. My hair was damp. Illya looked upset.

"Your head was bleeding quite a bit at first, but its stopped now."

"H how long was I out?"

"Ten minutes."

I struggled to sit up and Illya and Sam willingly helped me. I looked at Sam. Now he was here…

"Sam, the third gunman. Was he hiding far from here?"

"Yes, close by. Just around the corner."

"Help me up, Sam."

Illya held out his arm for me to grab to pull myself up, but for some reason, I bypassed his hand and took Sam's instead. I was aware of a flash of shame and hurt in those blue eyes, but only for a moment. Then the Iceman was back, his face stony and impassive, the Illya everyone else knows. The emotionless Mister Ice. I steadied myself, feeling my head spinning and took a few deep breaths. Once I had managed to get my eyes focused properly, I nodded to agent Darkly.

"Show me."

He led us out of the alley and down the street a few steps. There we found a rusty blue transit van parked outside an old hardware store. The store was closed and boarded up. The van was covered in rust, and dirt and scratches, and the tyres were all flat, looking like the thing had been sitting there for some time. The passenger side door was open and Darkly beckoned me towards it.

"It's all been dusted for fingerprints, Guv. Nothing else has been removed yet."

I nodded and climbed inside. I was aware that Illya climbed in behind me, but I ignored him for now as I directed my attention on the van's interior.

The gun that had killed my agent was missing, although the stand that it had been obviously resting on was still I place. I sat on my heels and peered through the missing rear window of the van, imagining a gun-sighting. The registry building was way off in the distance. A human standing where Mildy had been standing when he was shot could never have been hit so precisely without either an incredible stroke of luck, or a telescopic sight. Even then…

I frowned. I had been inside the building when the shooting had all kicked off. I turned to Darkly.

"Sam, precisely where was Illya standing when Mildy got hit? You said that Mildy was running across the road, heading towards Illya at the time?"

Darkly stared along the imaginary line of sight and sat back on his heels looking at me. He looked up at my partner.

"Illya, were you standing on the sidewalk or were you standing on the bottom step?"

"Not on the step. We had just stepped onto the pave…sidewalk when…" he stopped and looked away. Darkly looked at me and I could see he was on my wavelength.

"Guv, everyone else was on the ground, Illya was still standing there. It all happened so fast. Mildy was belting across the road, yelling to Illya to get down. He looked up and seemed to see something so he raised his gun and fired…that's when he hit the second gunman on the roof."

I nodded and glanced at my partner.

"The third gunman was hiding here in this van. He didn't join in the general rounds of firing. The other two snipers were using machine guns to cause chaos. It was a stray shot that hit Claire. She wasn't the target. The bullet that killed Mildy came from a shotgun."

Illya passed a hand across his eyes. He looked from me to Sam and back again.

"So the other two were distractions? Just to cause chaos? This man was the real sniper? He couldn't have been gunning for Mildenhall. Mildy just got in the way. So who was the real target? Me or Mister Waverly?"

Sam got to his feet.

"Either or both I'd say. I reckon he was out to try and get you both if possible, or one of you would be enough to damage UNCLE considerably. Either the Chief, or one of his two top agents."

I looked out of the window again, back towards the registry building and saw in my mind's eye the confusion that had taken place. Only Claire and Illya it seemed had reached the bottom of the steps. The rest of the guests were at the top of the steps or were still inside the building. I looked round at my colleagues and stood up.

"The machine guns opened fire too soon. They should have waited until everyone was out of the building. Because they made that mistake, Mister Waverly was still inside with me, and was saved."

Sam and I found ourselves looking at Illya. If anything, he was looking even paler than normal, although it was hard to see in the dim interior of the van. He blinked and forced himself to look away from the window.

"This fellow here must have been mad." He said. "The others kick everything off too soon, and kill an innocent woman, forcing everyone else flat out on the ground or to flee back inside the building. I was the only target left. I was standing there like a fool. Killing Mildy must have been an accident. This sniper was aiming at me. Mildy saved my life."

He was standing there, looking dully at us, and then he was gone. I frowned and followed my partner out of the van. He was outside, standing in the road with his back against the side of the van, breathing deeply, looking very green about the gills.

"Take your time, my friend." I said softly. His head jerked round at that and his head dropped.

"Everyone thinks that I am the ice-man." He said almost under his breath; "I'm not handling this very well, am I Napoleon?"

He looked so lost and vulnerable at the moment, I was seized with an insane urge to hug him like I would a small child. The side of my mouth quirked.

"Given that this supposedly happiest day of your life has been turned into a complete nightmare, you're doing better than many would in your place."

"Please forgive me for hurting you, Napoleon, I…I…you have every right to be angry with me, and I…"

I turned to face him then, and took his face in both my hands and held him, so that he was forced to look at me.

"Illya, it was an accident. Don't worry about that, okay? I need you partner. I need your company, I need your intelligence, your quick mind and your perfect aim…but I need you focused. I need you by my side Illya, not racing off ahead of me, not bawling out our friends and colleagues, or threatening them for following the rules. I need you to try and treat this the way you would any other mission. Take out your frustrations on me all you want, but be the ice man everyone loves…just until we get this job done. I can't find this maniac alone, Illya, I need your help. I don't need you locked up in a psychiatric ward. I need you beside me. Do you understand?"

He nodded, and for the first time since all this started, I saw the gears starting to work. A light came into his eyes that I had feared I would not see again.

"You've thought of something. Out with it!"

"Napoleon, the registry building staff were all vetted, and those involved were sworn to secrecy. They are government agents; they are used to keeping things confidential."

I nodded, wondering where he was going with this. He smiled slightly.

"If the details about today did not come from the staff at the registry office, there is only one other place…? How else would these snipers know where we would be and when? Especially the fact that Waverly himself would be here?"

I stared at my partner, and he raised his eyebrows. I nodded.

"You're right Illya. We have a traitor in UNCLE!"


	7. Anonymous - Through The Eyes Of A Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the mind of the U.N.C.L.E traitor...a little insight

I won't tell you who I am. Come on, I'm not about to give myself away am I? I will only tell you that I am female and I work in the UNCLE headquarters in New York. I put myself through night school for two years to learn short hand and typing and a myriad of office skills, I got my brother to teach me how to handle firearms so that I can take the top-knot off a budgerigar at fifty feet. I'm good at my job, and I didn't get any UNCLE training for it either. I had it all before I started working here.

When I came for my official meeting, they didn't tell me what job I was being vetted for, simply that they needed an assistant. I assumed it was an office assistant. I thought "what other kind of assistant is there in an office environment?" Huh!

Anyway, that is enough about that for the time being. I get a limited amount of exposure to the field agents. Section two agents are always viewed by the girls here as sexy and desirable. They are forbidden fruit, because they are not allowed to get married, so it is considered rather daring to go on a date with one of them, because if you happen to fall off your trolley over a section two, then tough cookies! The two that are sought after the most of course, are Solo and Kuryakin. Solo is what anyone would call ideal date material, as he is handsome and suave, and very charming, but he is a serial womaniser, and so in my opinion, you go for him if you want to satisfy certain…um…urges, but that is all.

His partner, Kuryakin is a very different type altogether, very few if any girls here at HQ have secured a date with him. He is the mysterious, enigmatic one, with a shock of blond hair, dreamy eyes and a gorgeous body. Many of us make sure we are hanging around the gym when he is doing his regular work-out…that is a thing of beauty to behold, to be sure.

I have been head over heels in infatuation with Kuryakin since the day he first came. But has he noticed me? Not a single time. It isn't as if I am ugly or anything. I'm hardly a beauty queen, but I'm not bad either. I've had several dates with the chief charmer, Napoleon Solo. Eventually, I plucked up my courage and invited Kuryakin to lunch with me at the commissary, no strings. He gave me what looked like a false smile and said thank you but no, he had already made other plans. Five minutes later I saw him entering his office with his arms full of pizza and garlic bread. What? Eat alone in his office rather than eat in a public place with me? What planet did this man live on? I knew for a fact that he must have been eating alone in there because Napoleon was in Washington attending a meeting for the entire day!

That did get my back up. I started then to dislike him. Then to hate him. Every time I saw him, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring me. On the rare occasions I did see him smile, it was always in my direction, but his eyes were always looking at someone else, never at me. I had to find a way to make him realise that he couldn't treat me that way,

Then the news went round headquarters that Illya Kuryakin was getting married. Married! He wouldn't even leave his office for five minutes to eat lunch with me, but he was willing to leave section two forever in order to marry this..this hussy!

I guess I won't go into any details of how I made it known around certain quarters that I was disenchanted with one of the senior agents. It is not difficult be a traitor when you work for an organisation like UNCLE. Suffice it to say I was pretty soon contacted by someone who withheld their own name, gave me a communicator and the number of a special bank account which, she said, would be in a false name, but to which my salary would be paid. I would get $1500 for every piece of useful information I passed on to them.

Wow! Suddenly I had money! I was able to get my car repaired, and my windows re-glazed, I was able to buy myself an expensive cocktail dress to wear on one of my dates with Mister Solo! He told me I looked gorgeous! At least someone can appreciate quality when they see it! I was also able to pay for my grandmother to get the expensive medical treatment she badly needed, but none of us were otherwise able to afford.

For the most part, the information I passed on via my special communicator was harmless little bits and pieces, that caused little more than inconvenience to our people. For example, I passed on the number plate of Mark Slate's hire car. I knew it because I had to book it. I waited a couple of days for he and his partner to make a start on their assignment and then used my communicator. The next thing I heard was that the car hired by Slate and Dancer had been seen on fire, going over the edge of a cliff.

At first I was slightly shocked, but once I learned that the two agents were safe, I found it gave me a thrill that I had never experienced before…well not for a long time anyway. The last time I felt that kind of buzz was when my friend Celie and I used to bunk off school and steal apples and chocolates from the local store, then hide out in her uncle's barn to eat them. I thought, well what difference does it make if no one gets hurt? Get them hopping. It does them good to be reminded that THRUSH is always just a step behind!

When I learned the details about Kuryakin's wedding though, here was an opportunity that doesn't come a knocking very often. Did I want to achieve what I actually finally managed to achieve? Well, i wasn't particularly upset that Illya's hussy was shot dead. Serve her right for stealing him away from me. What I actually intended though was for him to get killed. Three blasted snipers they sent out on my information, THREE! And they all failed. The bride got killed, but all Illya got was the equivalent of a clip round the ear! He was standing alone from what I heard, a clear shot, perfect opportunity! But the sniper with the shotgun and the telescopic sights who had no excuse to miss, managed to get himself distracted by that stupid heroic Mildy who got in the way of the bullet.

It was a debacle! What better chance could they have had to rid themselves of UNCLE's prize Russian bear? Perhaps if I had told them that Mister Waverly was going to be there too, they might have hung around longer and got themselves a better chance later to finish things properly…? Mind you, if Waverly had been killed, that might have spelt out the end for UNCLE altogether, and I'd be out of a job. No for now I guess, I will have to wait for another opportunity.

I did go for the woman on the communicator though. She was very curt with me and told me that it was no business of mine but that heads would roll for that failure. She reminded me that since the Top team of Solo and Kuryakin would likely be back on the job together, it was up to me to find another way of splitting them up.

How do I do that? Those two are closer than my parents! Get between them? That wouldn't be easy. Getting them to fall out would take some doing. Perhaps I should have taken on the job of sniper myself. At least I would not have missed. Neither would I have been distracted. I will have to give it some thought, the good thing about all this, everyone is still looking for THRUSH. They have no idea that I had anything to do with things…fortunately for me. I think they still employ capital punishment for UNCLE traitors…

No I won't let them catch me, but I will have to think of something. When Kuryakin comes back to work, is he going to walk around wiping his eyes all the time? Not him. That one is little more than a machine after all. Completely unfeeling. Perhaps losing his hussy will teach him what it is like to lose something you love…put some expression into those impassive eyes of his?

It would have been so much easier on all of us if he had just accepted that lunch with me in the first place…


	8. Mark Slate - All About Our Next Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and April prepare to join in the investigation.

It was the biggest shock of my life when I found out that Illya was going to leave fieldwork in order to get married. I mean, I always sort of believed that it would take a hell of a lot more than a woman to tear Illya away from Napoleon. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing kinky or gay or anything about them, it's just that they have been through so much together, and Napoleon has backed up Illya, even getting himself declared legally dead so that he could follow Illya on a desperate mission in Russia and Ukraine three months ago*. Illya would do as much or more for Napoleon in a heartbeat, so the strength of love and attachment that Illya must have felt for Claire had to be strong enough to even overpower his attachment to Napoleon. And then Claire was killed.

How on earth must Illya have felt? I've lost people, most of us have I suppose at some time or another, but it seems that Illya has lost just about everyone he has ever cared about…except for Napoleon. In his place, I wonder if I might start to think that I was somehow under a curse? That Napoleon was jinxed just by hanging around me. Fortunately, Illya doesn't believe in that stuff.

I would give a lot to see that bloke genuinely happy because something good has happened for him. When he found his brother's daughter three months ago, his niece Katiya, he seemed happy for a while, and then he lost her when she and her grandpa had to go into hiding. All he has left of her now is a letter once a month.

I know the others have already talked about the shooting, and the stuff at the hospital, and the fact that Napoleon had to take off after Illya, who climbed out of the hospital window and down the fire escape. April and I were busy at the hospital, dealing with the details surrounding Claire's death, dealing with her family, getting them settled in local hotels and hospitality suites, and then we drove mister Waverly back to headquarters.

Sam Darkly called me via communicator and told me that Solo wanted April and I on the investigation and brought me up to speed with all the results of their work so far. Mister Waverly was more than happy for us to go out again. It seemed he had concerns of his own. He gave the two of us a stern warning before we left.

"Remember Mister Slate, Miss Dancer, this is to be a professional investigation. By rights Illya should be back in the hospital under guard until the investigation is completed."

"Because he is personally involved, sir?" I replied. Waverly nodded. "Illya is justified in being extremely angry and vengeful, and we cannot have matters being handled that way. Mister Solo too, as Illya's closest friend needs to exercise caution. I don't want any one of you to jeopardize things by your…zeal."

So me and April left headquarters. April was calling Napoleon on her communicator as I backed our car out of its parking space.

"Napoleon? It's April. Mark and I are free now and on our way to join you. What do you need?"

"Confab first. Meet us at Joe's Place, ten minutes."

"Righto."

Joe's Place was a greasy spoon diner, not hot on keeping his place well decorated, but everything was clean and he cooked the best fried and grilled food in New York State. April and I arrived first, and being as we were both hungry, we went ahead and ordered a lunch. After all, we had missed out on the meal we would have had at Illya's reception. I hate to sound heartless about that, but it was gone three thirty in the afternoon by this time, and all I had had to eat that day was a hot muffin. I ordered the house special; fried eggs, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, hash browns, mushrooms et al. April ordered herself an omelette and toast. Very ladylike. She tends to eat like a butterfly in front of Napoleon and Illya, but believe me, when she and I are on a mission together she can pack it away as well as I can.

We were halfway through our meal when the guys came in. They were both looking the worse for wear. Napoleon had a dressing on one cheek and dried blood in his hair; Illya had a large and slightly bloody dressing on his scalp where the bullet had winged him, that looked like it was missing a substantial bandage. They sat down and poured themselves each a glass of water from the jug on the table but refused food.

"You two look like you should both be in medical." I told them. Napoleon gave a wary smile. Illya glared at me.

"I won't find any murderer sitting in medical!" he snapped. "We…"

Solo glanced at his partner, and Illya subsided at once with a soft, "Sorry". April and I exchanged glances.

"You need to know, both of you that Mister Waverly is worried about you."

Illya's glare if anything intensified. I felt myself shudder. That bloke can be ruddy scary at times, you know.

"Do not worry yourself, Mark. I will not be embarrassing anyone."

For a moment, a flash of anger ripped through me. Why was he taking things out on me? I was only the blasted messenger! I quickly quashed those feelings though. After all, today would have to be among the worst day ever for Illya, and the day wasn't nearly over yet. I tried to imagine myself in his position, but I couldn't. I thought back three weeks ago when my sister had sent me the news of my mum's death**. I thought about the emotions that had ripped through me when I first learned of it. It was not difficult to do. I had only got back from her funeral a week or so ago, and immediately tears started unexpectedly to my eyes. Suddenly embarrassed, I dived into my food again and when I looked up, Illya was offering me his handkerchief, a slight smile of empathy on his face.

"Here, Mark. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting that I am not the only one here who has…"

"Hey mate, forget it. I'm with you all the way. Just a tip though for what it's worth…the old man says that if any one of us over reacts in any way at all, anything that would prompt someone to question our motives, the three of us, he says, will finish our days scrubbing out the toilets and drains, and you will be shipped back home in disgrace."

"Which would mean the firing squad." Illya agreed. "Fine, we are polite all the way to these heartless murderers. Where do we start? We have to find the sniper from the van, and think of some way to find the traitor inside UNCLE."

I stared at him.

"A traitor inside UNCLE?"

Napoleon nodded.

"So what will this traitor be after?"

Illya raised his eyebrows.

"We have reason to believe that the machine-gun fire was intended to cause chaos, not to kill anyone. The sniper with the shotgun was after me."

"When poor Mildy was killed?"

Illya nodded. April finished her meal and sat back with her glass of water.

"So what will this traitor do now that he knows he's failed? Try again?"

Napoleon shook his head slowly.

"This couldn't have been planned for long, more of a last minute arrangement. Although everyone has known for a month about Illya and Claire, no one knew about where and when the wedding was happening because of Mister Waverly attending. We clapped a veil of secrecy over it for security, and only released the details in the last three days. Even then the `where' was need to know. So presuming that the snipers and gunners were from THRUSH, who knew and could have tipped them off?"

We all thought hard. April glanced at me.

"It seems to me that finding out who this traitor is will be easier if we can work out why they set this up. If they wanted to get Illya out of the field, or simply break up the magic combination of Solo and Kuryakin, why try to shoot Illya? Just let him get married and he is out of their hair."

"Hmm." Napoleon was thoughtful as he sipped his water. He put his glass down suddenly and leaned forward, his eyes bright.

"Hey, what if the traitor has his own reasons for hating Illya and wants him dead? It would have made more sense to just shoot him in person, but…"

Illya interrupted.

"Napoleon, for someone to decide they've had enough of me and shoot me directly is likely to be suicide. Someone who wants me out of the way would be more sensible to contact THRUSH and offer to betray UNCLE in return for a favour…"

"Exactly. So now THRUSH have themselves a mole inside headquarters who will be forced to do their bidding or risk being revealed. What will THRUSH decide? Try another sniper attempt?"

April shook her head.

"Been there, done that and failed. What they want is for you two to be taken out of the field, or at the very least, split up so that they can get a better shot of winning…one of you being easier to deal with than both of you."

I was frowning, trying to catch at an idea that was floating in my mind, but just out of reach. April must have caught my expression for she dug me in the ribs and made me jump.

"Hey, you have an idea Mark. What is it? Give!"

I shook my head slowly. I looked from Napoleon to Illya and back again.

"Rather than wait for this mole, this traitor to make his next move, why not tempt him with something? That way you can set the rules yourself?"

Illya's eyebrows lowered slightly.

"In what way?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I'm not sure. It…it sounds like a silly idea, but…if you wanted to break up me and April for instance, make sure our partnership was broken. Or if you were ordered to somehow make it happen, killing one of us might be your first idea. But if, when that failed, we returned to headquarters and started to argue and quarrel, what would be your first thought?"

Napoleon's eyebrows arched in surprise.

"I might just decide to encourage the quarrel…possibly start rumours or something…anything to encourage the quarreling to continue."

I nodded.

"If you want to find this traitor sooner rather than later, now would be the time for you to return to base and set things in motion…considering everything that has happened today if you try hard enough, you might find something to twist suitably into a…" I paused and fell silent, feeling suddenly very awkward under Illya's icy stare. After a full minute of that icy blast directed at me, Illya blinked and turned to Napoleon.

"I hate that idea Napoleon. I hate it, but I think it might just work…"

"What will we quarrel about, Illya?" Napoleon countered, fascinated but clearly reluctant. Illya shrugged, a lop-sided smile playing about the corner of his mouth.

"I don't know. You could be angry with me for attacking you and knocking you out."

I felt my eyes open wide in surprise.

"You did what?"

Napoleon flashed me a weary smile.

"It was an accident, but yes Illya, I could do that. You could…sorry Illya…you could accuse me of failing you on your…er…hmm…you know."

"On my wedding day, letting my wife be killed."

"Umm yeah. That."

Illya was looking closely at his partner and suddenly the penny seemed to drop with something of a clatter.

"Napoleon, you are feeling guilty because of Claire…aren't you? You know it was not your fault…and it was my suggestion that when we left the building you would bring up the rear…you were inside when everything kicked off. How could it possibly be your fault my friend?"

I won't go any more into that conversation. After all, all of us were in shock that day, and Napoleon and Illya the worst of all of us. Napoleon was deeply upset because he failed to protect Illya's wife, Illya was upset at having lost her and at himself for having lost his perspective over the case…all in all, ten minutes of tears and angst, explanations and then deciding on a plan of action between them to put my idea into action. First, Solo decided, they would have to go in to see Mister Waverly and let him in on the plan and the reasons for it. Otherwise…

Meanwhile, April and I would track down the shotgun sniper, the man who had killed Agent Mildenhall. A two-pronged attack. I hoped and prayed we could get things sorted out quickly. April and I got up, and she smiled as she took my arm.

"If we meet any THRUSHies then guys, and they ask how you are, we tell them you have started fighting like cat and dog and blaming each other for today's events?"

Illya glanced at Napoleon who returned the glance and then nodded.

"Yup. We're both reasonably good at acting. We'll put on a good show."

"All the best with it." I said, feeling my gut wrenching in sympathy with them. "Come on April, we can start by tracking down the owner of that transit van."

Feeling our colleagues' eyes on our backs, April and I left the café to start our investigation.

MFU

MFU

*The Lake of Tears Affair

**The Rose


	9. Alexander Waverly - What Did I Think Of Their Plan?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I don't have long. I'll tell you what I made of Mark Slate's plan, and few other bits and pieces, ok?

Oh, er, hmm, hello! I must say I thought it was a clever plan of Mister Slate’s, even though I was not completely happy about it. They did explain their reasoning to me, and I confess I could not come up with anything better. If my numbers One and Two agents were correct about the existence of a mole within headquarters, then we want to find the person and quickly, before anyone else gets killed.

To tell you the truth though, as soon as Mister Solo outlined their suspicions to me, a few things did start to fall into place. Why we never cottoned on to it before I do not know. Whoever it is, he or she is good at covering themselves, and not giving too much information, or of a nature that would be easy to trace back. I must say though, once you know of the existence of any kind of a pattern, it does become easier to distinguish. Even so, as far as my personal records go, going over every event in the last six months in minute detail, I found precious little to prove beyond doubt the existence of any kind of a mole…except for one instance.

Slate and Dancer had been assigned to act the part of a married couple in order to investigate suspicious goings on at a roadside motel, and a hire car had been provided for them as part of their cover. Three days into their assignment, I received news that their car had been seen going over a cliff, and being wrecked on the rocks at the edge of the shore. Fortunately, my agents were not inside the car at the time, but nowhere in the reports have I been able to find any explanation of how the car came to be connected to UNCLE. Their cover was airtight, and so was the car hire…or so I had been led to believe.  
You know, if one had the time to perform every single routine task oneself, one might be able to retain full confidence, but the details surrounding the hiring of the vehicle seemed to be the only place where details might have leaked out. I sent Mister Dennell to verify every detail to his own satisfaction, and it came back to me that nothing had gone wrong there either. So someone had to have passed on that information directly to THRUSH. And it had to be someone who knew the specific car assigned to the team. The UNCLE mechanic; the UNCLE gateman, the girl who actually handled the details concerning the car, possibly one of the girls in the communications hub. I passed on my conclusions, such as they were, to Mister Solo who agreed that he and his partner had come up with similar ideas. The only way, he said, would be to have all communications secretly monitored.

I reminded him that a mole would not use our own communications system. Mister Solo agreed, and recommended that we reactivate the portable HQ.  
Between you and me, I have always hoped that the portable HQ would never be needed, because it was designed for use in case our regular headquarters became too damaged or dangerous to use…I can think of a few situations in which that might occur. I leave you to draw your own conclusions on that. However, the vehicle has been useful on a few occasions, especially in the regrettable situation of finding ourselves having to spy on our own people. The thing was that once Solo and Kuryakin began their regrettable charade, someone had to monitor the frequencies every minute. I decided that the best way would be to wait until they believed that they had given their quarry a potential bite, and then do it themselves. Solo agreed to wait for the time being. Then, urging him to take things slowly so as not to be too obvious, I dismissed him. After all, I do have other cases to deal with. 

On a personal note, I was extremely surprised when Mister Kuryakin submitted to me his request for a transfer out of section two, for the purposes of getting married. I thought it most regrettable. He is a particularly talented young man, and he is, in fact, the first man to successfully partner Napoleon Solo. His survival has defied all the odds. I am a little concerned at the closeness of their friendship, however.

Whilst such a friendship is a wonderful thing, it is something that can be taken advantage of by the enemy, and in their case it has been on several occasions. I wondered briefly, after the shooting of the bride, whether this whole thing was engineered as some kind of a trap for the pair of them? Probably just my over-active imagination. 

The situation so far then, was that I was once again consigned to the waiting game, whilst Slate and Dancer were out on the street tracking down the sniper who killed Mister Mildenhall, and Messieurs Solo and Kuryakin were preparing for an Oscar-winning performance. It would be better if someone else were to tell you about that. Good day.


	10. APRIL - Where Mark and I Start Poking About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and I are given the task of locating the sharpshooter who killed Mildy...but where does our evidence take us?

APRIL – Where Mark and I start poking about

As section two agents, we see a lot of death, but there is nothing in the world that can prepare you for meeting it yourself when it touches someone that you love. Personally, I would say that our brief meeting with Napoleon and Illya at Joe's place was about the most awkward I had ever felt in their company.  
Illya, very much the `Ice Prince', was clearly distraught. I had a very strong impression that his impassivity was a very thin veneer that he was able to keep up only because of Napoleon. I could almost see the Russian drawing strength from Napoleon, that Napoleon's close presence and support was the only thing Illya had to hold on to. The only thing keeping him from completely going to pieces. I hope you know what I mean by that. I know I'm not explaining it very well. I felt so strongly that I wanted to do something to help Illya, but what was there anyone could do or even say that would even remotely help? Illya will cope, because he will have no choice about it. He knows that the alternative would mean letting THRUSH win, and Illya would sooner die himself.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I was relieved when things were resolved the way they were. Darkly and the others would clean up the crime scene, as it were, Mark and I would stay out here in the field to find the shot-gun sniper and anyone else who might be behind him, whilst Napoleon and Illya returned to headquarters to tackle the difficult job of finding the traitor. Difficult though their job was, I somehow thought that at least as far as bullets went, it was likely to be the safer task. No bullets flying around, Illya for one could not then be tempted to do anything silly. Hmmm.

Anyway, let someone else tell you about all of that later. Mark and I were already on to research to get us details on the owner of the transit van. We were not surprised to find that it was owned by a car and van hire company. We removed all of the `additions' that had been made to it; the shotgun for example, topped it up with some fuel and drove it back there ourselves. Whilst Mark went into the office to talk to the owner of the company, I drove the van into the garage at the back and getting out, I started to peer and poke about as if fascinated by vehicles. In reality, I know very little about them beyond the necessary basics, but I made appreciative little noises and pretty soon a head popped up from beneath a raised hood.

"Who are you Misses? What are you poking around here for? You could get yourself hurt!"

I smiled at the man in greasy overalls and raised my hands in mock surrender.

"Not touching anything, Chief, honest! I'm just waiting for my…er…friend. In the office. We brought back the blue van we hired."

"Uh-huh!" The man did not seem particularly interested.

"It was far too conspicuous. Perhaps something smaller might have suited us better…"

The man raised an eyebrow at me.

"Too conspicuous? It was chosen because of being completely inconspicuous! Your pal specifically pointed it out and said that it would be perfect!"

"Perhaps he had a different idea of what we would be needing it for!"

"Perhaps."

The man returned to his engine. I heaved a sigh and went to his side.

"Oh well, my fault I suppose. He'd been on at me for ages and I wanted it to be really special! When he told me he had hired a van I knew what he had hired   
it for…or I thought I did. But a van like that…I still think a hotel room would have been cheaper, personally, but…"

The man smirked, and the look in his eye as he looked up at me made me squirm inside.

"The old devil!" he remarked with a chuckle. "When Merlin asked for it, he said it was needed for business reasons…I admit that this was not quite what I thought he had in mind."

I nodded ruefully.

"Nor do I…now."

"So you have the hots for Merlin? I wouldn't have guessed you would be his type. Surprised you never cottoned on actually. Most girls pick it up a mile away. Scares most of 'em off!"

I frowned, wondering what he was getting at.

"Are you telling me that he's actually gay? And he's been leading me on all this time?"

"Nah, are you kidding? But you really don't look like the bondage type either…the last girlfriend he brought in here had more metalwork than this car I'm working on…and I don't mean in her mouth!"

I gave him what I hoped was a coquettish smile.

"Well, it shows you can't judge people on appearance. Merlin says hi by the way. I'd better go back to the office and find out why I'm still waiting. See ya."

The man grunted and returned to his work, and I went back to the office doorway, where my partner was in the act of leaving.

"Fine, okay. Thank you for your co-operation. Bye!"

Together we left the premises and walked a safe distance down the road together before we ducked into a doorway and pretended to be in a clinch together in order to talk without being overheard.

"So, what did the boss tell you about the van?" I asked my partner. He shrugged.

"Nothing at all. He says that once the van is hired by someone and leaves the premises, he has no control over what the customer does with the van until it is returned. He insists that whether the van is used in a murder, a robbery, or simply as a removal van is none of his business. He refused to give me any information and insists that all details of such transactions are confidential and only a court order will persuade him to give."

"Did you tell him you were U.N.C.L.E, and entitled to insist?"

Mark shook his head.

"No. I thought it better to let him think I was just an `inquisitive prat', his words by the way. If we need to get those details, I would suggest sending Solo and Kuryakin in there for it. That will teach him to cooperate next time. I am hoping that you had more success than I did?"

I grinned at him and recounted my conversation with the mechanic in the garage. Mark started to chuckle as I concluded.

"So he thinks you are a chick that is into heavy metal and bondage eh? Little does he know!"

I thumped my partner good naturedly on the arm and opened my communicator.

Whilst we waited for research to find a gentleman called Merlin with the tendencies described, Mark and I looked back up the street.

"Mark, did you find out anything at all from that man?"

"He told me that the van was hired via a phone call two days ago, and it was picked up this morning at six. That's all he would tell me." 

He frowned.

"April, from what that mechanic told you, this chap who hired it, Merlin, was well known there? Would he be a regular customer maybe? Or a personal friend?"

I shrugged.

"Would you own and run a car if you live and work solely in Manhattan? It would always be easier to use the subway. But living slightly further from the center of everything, anyone would want to own a car, or use one from time to time."

"What if you live and work in the middle of Manhattan somewhere, and so own no car, but you do have reason to drive out of town occasionally. Would you rather hire a vehicle for that? Or use the train or a bus?"

"That would depend on where it is you have to go." I replied. "Car hire is probably more expensive, but more convenient…especially if you have an organization like THRUSH to pay for you."

"So this Merlin is likely a regular visitor there then? He must live and work in the center of the city, and work for some THRUSH satrap outside the city, and hires a vehicle…no April, that makes no sense. Who says that this satrap is not already in the city?"

I frowned, thinking hard.

"I'll tell you one thing, Mark, finding property in the prime areas of Manhattan can't be easy…vacant property I mean. If this chap Merlin is involved, and if he does work in the city, maybe THRUSH are using his premises as their base?"

"I guess that would depend on what he does for a living."

"Hmm. Now you said the van was picked up at six? So in four hours, the van was taken somewhere where it was adapted as a sharpshooter base, and then driven and put into position…and it would have had to be there pretty early or our guys would have been suspicious of it…"

Suddenly our eyes met and Mark smote his forehead.

"Of course, April, it would have been included in the general sweep of the area three days ago, and repeated every morning! So it would make sense that it must have been already there…"

"Mark, the only reason any vehicle can be exempted from suspicion is when it is already a familiar sight. If you know there is always a blue van parked in a certain place, and everyone you speak to says so, you are not worried when one turns up."

"So that was why it was not as thoroughly checked out? So if this is not the van that is usually parked there, where is the other one? It would make sense that…"

Mark nodded to me, and whipped out his communicator. Finally, we had a number plate for a blue van that was registered to an August Daines who apparently ran a small window cleaning company from the same address, and whom lived in a one room apartment above the office. When Mark asked if there were any personal details available on him, he was informed that August Daines was a widower in his early forties; with a tubby build; thinning, greying hair; watery grey eyes and a fondness for beer and cacti. Somehow, we both felt that even though that was still a pretty vague description as descriptions go, we would still be able to pick him out of a crowd. Where was he, if his van was missing? With an alert to all agents to look out for a van with those plates, Mark and I felt our next move should be to check out the business premises registered to our friend Gus, right where the sniper's blue van had been parked all morning.

A little investigation led us to a narrow back alley that gave us access to the rear of the property, and we found our first obstruction. A large wooden door with an almost equally large rusty iron padlock. I got out my set of lock-picks and although it took slightly longer than usual because the padlock had rusted almost solid, we soon had the door open. Beyond was simply an old shed, with piles of plastic buckets, paint tins, brooms and brushes, an old car engine leaning against a wall, a large cart wheel leaning against the adjacent wall, several broken chairs, an upturned table with one leg missing and a child's tricycle with a ripped seat. We looked around the room, but there was nothing outstanding to notice. In front of us a wooden door with broken window panes sat ajar. I nudged my partner, and Mark nodded. He removed his gun from its holster, and we pushed the door open and stepped into a narrow area consisting mostly of cracked paving stones and a drain. Looming up ahead was the rear of the building itself. We pulled at the door. Again, it stood slightly ajar and opened easily.

Mark and I exchanged a look, and we were both thinking the same thing. If this chap Gus was at home, as it was still business hours, why was the front all locked up, and where was his van? If he was out, either on jobs or a holiday of some kind, then why had he left half his doors unlocked? True, many people would be unable to enter the back through the padlocked door, but it would not take very much for anyone to enter from the back of one of the neighbouring properties. Something was very wrong here somehow.

I withdrew my gun and carefully and silently we searched the building in tiniest detail. Nothing. The business part of the property gave evidence of an office and a storage room, little more than that. A little searching elicited evidence that the office was generally manned by a female…someone rather elderly judging by the styling of the glasses and cardigan that had been left behind. So there were two people missing? Our friend Gus presumably, and an elderly female who answered his phone for him. Upstairs we found a rather rundown room comprising of a large bed, a winged armchair, a table with a kettle, a T.V set and a wash stand.

I looked around sadly.

"Is this what a man works hard all his life for, Mark? A dingy single room without even his own oven?"

Mark gave me a half grin, although his eyes too were sympathetic.

"Don't judge the man based on not having an oven, April. Not having to cook every day would be paradise to some blokes."

"So is he on a vacation or what?"

"Not according to Leah in records."

"I don't like this Mark. I keep thinking about that shed out back. If they were kidnapped or something, why was that door left open? I want to go back and take another look around."

"Come one then partner."

Mark followed me back down the stairs, and we returned to the shed, this time determined to check every inch of it. We still came up with nothing. I looked around at the mess, and my eyes rested on the upturned table. It was positioned right in the middle of the floor, so that you had to walk around the thing to get from one door to the other. Who would deliberately put it down here in the way? Even though the back door was padlocked and hardly used, it would still make more sense to move a broken table out of the main walkway wouldn't it? I glanced at Mark and he nodded, clearly thinking something very similar. Together we heaved at the heavy oak table and shoved it to one side. There it was. A large trap door set in the floor.

"A cellar? A dungeon?" Mark asked me under his breath as he seized hold of the iron hoop and pulled. The door came up smoothly and silently; clearly it had not been neglected as had the rusty padlock.

"The hinges have been kept well oiled…pretty unusual considering how neglected everything else is around here." I replied. "So, who goes down? Toss you for it?"

Two minutes later, my communicator set on open channel, I lowered myself down the hole, into the darkness.


	11. MARK - Where We Succeeded, But . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April and I, with help from our colleagues, progressed well with our search for the THRUSH base, but when does anything ever go completely to plan?

I watched my partner disappearing into that hole. She is good at moving silently in the darkness, is April. She insisted that I should stay up top so that if she gets caught down there, I can call HQ for help before I go down to rescue her. Makes sense, but I would much rather have her back. Still, she kept her communicator on open channel so that if anything should happen to her, I would hear it.

I waited silently, all but holding my breath, until after about five minutes I heard her give a slight gasp, then she called me. The communicator might be a pen, but it also doubles or _triples_ you might say, as a torch. I flicked mine on so that I could see where I was going. April met me at the foot of the ladder. Her face was grim.

"Now we know why someone put a table over the trapdoor, Mark. Look here."

I followed her across the dark room, through a doorway and into another room that smelled damp and musty. April flashed her light into a corner. There, laying on the floor in a corner of the room in a sort of heap as though he had been thrown was a man in his approximately early forties. Slightly tubby, greying hair…I looked at my partner. She knelt beside him and felt his neck, then looked up at me, shaking her head.

"It's our friend August Daines I think. He's dead."

I crouched beside her.

"Has he been shot?"

We examined him as carefully as we could without actually disturbing any of the evidence, but could see no sign of any gunshot wounds. I got up.

"We had better call this in right away. This room needs to be examined carefully in proper light."

April looked at me sadly.

"If only we could have been here in time to save this man. What happened to the elderly woman who works in his office?"

I put my arm around my partner's shoulders, and led her back to the foot of the ladder.

"Come along. Let's take a look at his paperwork and try to find out. I'll call this in first, and wait here for the clean-up team."

April nodded.

"While you do that I'll make start in the office."

I watched her go, seeing the slight dejected slope of her shoulders and knew how she was feeling. I was feeling it too. Casualty number two to die in someone's quest. The likelihood was this fellow had been targeted simply because his premises was perfectly positioned to be used by the sniper. This man had been in the way. Used, deliberately to cover the identity of a murderer.

I contacted Mister Waverly on my communicator and informed him that we had discovered a casualty, the murder of an innocent, dumped in his own cellar. Waverly was grim and ready and promised a team within ten minutes. While I waited for them, I started prowling around the shed again, searching again for any clue, however slight, that April and I might have missed the first time.

Would the sniper have already known about this place? If THRUSH had only a day or two to plan the attack, they would have had almost no time to scope out their trajectories and lines of sight, very little time available for the various hidden gunmen to find and secure a safe hiding place. How did they find this place so fast? More than that, if the shotgun sniper came along and killed poor August, how the dickens did he know to hide the body down there? Why would he even think of looking in the shed to find a cellar? He would surely have been interested in the front of the shop, not the back, so what could have prompted him to come out here and look? It was partly chance and partly UNCLE training that had led April and I to be suspicious of the upturned table, and even then only because we knew that there had to be something to find. I couldn't stop myself worrying about the welfare of the elderly woman who appeared to be missing.

The clean-up team arrived, one of the UNCLE doctors with them and I directed them to the cellar door and reminded them that April and I had touched nothing except for the victim's carotid to check for a pulse. They nodded. They knew their job well, and set to work, then I was free to join my partner in the office.

April looked up as I came into the room.

"Madeleine Daines." She said to me without preamble. "Madeleine Olivia Daines, called Maddie by her friends. Sixty-nine years old, widow, mother of three sons. Jason the eldest died at the age of three from Whooping-Cough. The second son, Rupert born two years later would have been thirty-seven today, was killed in Korea. The youngest, August was forty-two three weeks ago. According to this, she lives in a small apartment about five blocks from here. I called it in. Mister Waverly is sending Lisa Rogers to check it out, with Jackson for protection."

I nodded. Since Jackson's defection to UNCLE from THRUSH a year ago, he had proven a great asset.

"So for now we wait?"

She nodded.

"We wait and see what pops."

"I wonder how the guys are getting on?"

"I don't know." April sat down suddenly and looked up at me with tears in her eyes.

"Mark, I can't believe that Claire is actually dead! I was with her last night, and she was so excited, talking about her new life, and the things she was looking forward to seeing in England on honeymoon. And then in just two minutes, she's gone, gunned down on her wedding day…"

A grabbed a nearby stool and pulled it up close and sat close by my partner, and I put an arm around her.

"You two had become pretty good friends hadn't you?"

April nodded, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and smudging her make-up in the process. I handed her my handkerchief.

"Sorry to be so female Mark, but I can't help it…She was so alive! I can't believe she's d.d. …"

My amazing, incredibly strong partner dissolved into distraught tears of grief. I leaned forward and hugged her, holding her close to me for comfort. No words were adequate.

We were interrupted by a call from Jackson.

"Mark? We came up trumps!"

"The old lady was at home?"

"No, that's just it. She was kidnapped!"

"Come again?"

"She was kidnapped, Guv. Listen, Miss Rogers and I found her place empty, all neat, with a little _to do_ list taped to the kitchen cupboards, so it looks like she got up and went to work as normal. She works every day between nine and one-thirty, then she goes home and she and her next door neighbour take turns to make lunch. Two days ago it was the neighbour's turn to make lunch but Mrs. Daines did not arrive. The neighbour was worried because she says her friend Maddie is a creature of habit. So she was looking out of the window, waiting for her. She says she saw her friend Maddie in the back of a brown station wagon passing by the front of the building waving frantically from the window. Then the window was raised and the car was gone. The neighbour wrote down the license number!"

"Great work, you two!" I replied warmly. "Something solid to go on at last. Have you called it in to Research?"

"Miss Rogers did sir, and we told them to call you right away with anything they come up with."

We thanked them and signed off. April dried her eyes and looked ashamed.

"Sorry about that Mark, I guess I should be used to it by now, but…"

I shook my head, absolutely serious.

"The day you are unmoved by the death of any innocent person is the day you should retire and take up crochet for a living. Don't apologize for caring, partner. Come on, let's get back to the car. We should have an address on that station wagon before long."

An hour later, April and I along with our fellow section two agents Darkly and Fielding were crouching in thick woodland and shrubbery surrounding an obvious THRUSH satrap. The one mistake they had made had been in allowing Maddie Daines to be seen waving from the station wagon. Little Mrs. Adams had memorized the number plate which had led us straight here. Now all we had to do was find and rescue the old lady before disposing of this satrap. Our plans were already laid. April and I would take care of finding Maddie Daines whilst Darkly and Fielding would take care of the more…er…destructive side of things. Sam Darkly had been one of Kuryakin's brightest pupils in his junior agents' explosives classes, and even Kuryakin himself acknowledged that Darkly was pretty good. Praise indeed!

We had twenty minutes which should be plenty, but as April and I fired off our first sleep darts, time seemed to speed up.

We had come this time well stocked up with sleep darts, and both smoke bombs and tranquilizer bombs. The idea to get in and out as quickly as possible with the minimum of fuss or interruption.

Sure enough we put everyone efficiently to sleep until the whole place looked a little like a scene from _The Sleeping Beauty_. We found Maddie eventually, locked in a bedroom on the third floor of the house, looking angry and disheveled. Time was passing worryingly quickly, and we had less than seven minutes to get out.

Fortunate really, that my partner has a way with older people. I suppose it must help that she is a female, but even so it took a precious three minutes that we could not afford before we managed to impress on the lady that she did not have time to start imperiously demanding apologies from the management. Finally, April managed to convince her to hurry, and we started down the stairs.

I suppose it would be best if I point out that Maddie may have been an old lady officially according to her age, but she did not by any means look or act like one, accept I suppose in her choices of spectacles and cardigans. She was upright, and reasonably healthy. Enough anyway to be able to hurry down the stairs with April's help, whilst I hovered beside them, with my gun drawn, my eyes looking all around.

I fired off more sleep darts as we ran as fast as Maddie was able to go towards the entrance, just as the first of Darkly's explosives detonated.

"Run faster!" I bellowed, grabbing the lady's other arm and propelling her forward as gently as I could. As the explosives started going off one after the other, she screeched and hung on to April, still running for all they were worth. I heard a shot being fired from the gatehouse, where the explosions had awakened the sleeping guards. Forced to stop in order to defend the fleeing women, I aimed my gun and fired once again. One of the men collapsed to the ground, but now I was out of sleep darts. I had ordinary bullets in my pocket, but no time to reload. I grabbed my last smoke bomb and threw it. As it threw up thick wreathes of smoke, I was vaguely conscious of a loud bang just as I was thrown backwards by some mighty blow…and everything went black.


	12. SAM DARKLY - About Mark Slate and Other Things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you know, we managed to rescue the lady who had been captured, and we destroyed the THRUSH satrap, but Mark Slate got shot as we were escaping. No more than a lucky shot for the THRUSHie, the last thing he ever did by the way...but not so lucky for poor Mark, or his partner April. Of course, as well as worrying about Mark, we found something else to worry about once we got back to HQ...

SAM DARKLY

 

Until about a year ago, I never really had much to do with Agent Mark Slate. I knew he was slightly higher ranking than me, for what that’s worth. He was number three and his partner number four. I am ranked number five of section two and my partner is number nine. The only ranks that actually make much of a difference though is one and two…until something happens to them.

A year ago or so, when Mister Solo and Mister Kuryakin were believed throughout UNCLE to have been killed (although their deaths had been faked so that they could go deep undercover), it was Mark Slate and April Dancer who took over their jobs. Suddenly, rather than being a familiar face in the commissary or the rec room, Mark was the one running things. Especially during that awful period when Waverly was framed for treason. That was when I realized for sure what a good guy Mark Slate really is. He knows his job, and he really cares a lot about people. He’s no dunce either. He and his partner got us all organized and under their direction we managed to find the UNCLE traitor that had framed Waverly and tried to have Solo and Kuryakin murdered. I always quite liked the guy, but that affair earned him my deep respect as well.

This time, as you already know, we were investigating the murder of Mrs. Claire Kuryakina and Mike Mildenhall, and the attempted murder of everyone else who attended the wedding. Those of us on duty in the street, and especially poor old Mildy, managed to shoot the three men with the machine guns. There were just the three of them, by the way, and they were all dressed in typical THRUSH monogrammed jumpsuits, with no identifying marks whatsoever. I think they must be a specially chosen squad of men who have no particular medical or dental history to use as identifiers. Their fingerprints had all been burned off. Our people, at this point in the affair, were still struggling to get anything from their bodies that we could use to identify them with. The shotgun sniper, however, was a slightly different proposition. He was clearly well prepared and clever, but hurried. And through hurrying, he made one or two tactical errors that allowed our intrepid agents to track down the THRUSH base.

I don’t know whether Mark thought to mention to you, but the sniper himself had been the one to kidnap the old lady, Maddie Daines. She is one formidable character, and she gave a very thorough description of him to Mister Waverly when Fielding and I finally got her back to HQ. So thorough, that research were able to get a bead on him. They presented her with about thirty pictures, and she picked him out in about five seconds. It is believed that he died when the THRUSH satrap blew up; but in case he did manage to escape, his details have been circulated to every UNCLE office and every agent around the globe. Because of his crimes, standing orders are to take the initiative. Capture him. Shoot to kill if necessary, but under no circumstances is he to be allowed to go free if he is sighted. So you might say that the investigation of the snipers was a success, and our raid on the satrap was a success.

Somehow it didn’t feel that way.

I have to admire April Dancer. After Mark was shot down, she was the senior agent standing, and was forced to take command. What she wanted to do, what any of us would want to do if our partners get hurt, was to forget everything else and dash to Mark’s side. On this occasion though, she had a slightly hysterical older lady to take care of. She remained outwardly calm and called in herself to report success, and to request urgent medical pick-up for Mark who was unconscious on the ground with a large hole in his chest. She calmly got Mrs Daines out of the way, and then introduced her to my partner Fielding and I, telling her that we would take her somewhere safe where she could tell her story to someone with the authority to do something about it. She liked that idea and she came along with us quite readily. So Fielding and I brought Maddie to HQ, leaving April alone to sit with her partner until the UNCLE ambulance and cleanup crew arrived.

UNCLE HQ seemed a slightly different place somehow. There was an underlying tension in the air that I had never felt before. It was a little while before I managed to put my finger on it. There was whispering going on amongst the girls in the different offices and departments. The girl in reception seemed slightly upset, quite understandably I suppose under the circumstances, but as my partner and I walked Maddie to Mister Waverly’s office, the odd atmosphere became more and more marked. Even Maddie seemed to sense that something was wrong.

“Miserable bunch working in this place.” She commented. “P’raps they all could do with a few days off…or maybe a raise in salary!”

We did not reply, but we delivered Maddie to Lisa Rogers knowing that she would take good care of the lady, and made our way straight into Waverly’s office to give him our preliminary report. He was pleased with the outcome of the investigation, but more concerned than he cared to admit about Mark Slate.

“Have you heard how he is yet, sir?” I asked him. Waverly nodded.

“Miss Dancer called me. They will be here in two or three minutes. They had to stabilize him at the scene before they could move him. Looks pretty serious.”

I closed my eyes, sadness, frustration and anger washing over me in equal measure. Waverly picked up his pipe.

“You have all done well Mister Darkly, Mister Fielding. It will be a while before you will be able to go in to see Mister Slate anyway, so now would be a good time to make a start on your official report.”

“Yes, sir.”

We left and made our way down to our office, not knowing quite what to think. It looked like things were not going too well for UNCLE right now. And what could be causing this odd atmosphere?

As we passed the door to the office used by Solo and Kuryakin, we heard the rumble of voices, followed by a loud clang, as though someone had slammed a door shut, then Kuryakin strode out colliding with me.

“Oof, sorry!” I said automatically, although it really hadn’t been my fault. Kuryakin froze me with an icy stare and stalked away without saying a word. I glanced at Fielding.

“You know Paul, if I were in his shoes, I think I would rather be at home, grieving in private.”

Fielding nodded, and led the way into our office. As I closed the door, he turned.

“You know Illya, Sam. He feels things deep, but hides things deep too. He may find it easier to keep busy than to sit at home and think about what he’s lost.”

I nodded.

“Probably right. God, Paul, I hope Mark comes through all right. I can’t bear…”

I broke off, suddenly unwilling to finish that sentence. We sat down and started to write out our reports.

It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes later when we heard a raised voice from the office next door. I glanced up at my partner.

“Is that Solo? What is with him and his partner today? I hope they’re not cracking under the strain.”

Paul leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

“Come on Sam, I can’t concentrate on this anyway. I keep worrying about Napoleon and Illya, and about poor Mark. April sitting down there on her own…”

I nodded.

“You’re right, this is a waste of time. Let’s get down to medical.”

This time it was Solo who collided with me as we hurried passed. He apologized profusely.

“I’ve just heard about Mark Slate. Why on earth Illya didn’t tell me as soon as he found out I can’t imagine!”

I frowned at him.

“Is that what you were yelling about? We could hear you next door. Sorry sir, it’s none of our business, but considering the kind of day Illya has had today, I’d be tempted to cut him some slack.”

Napoleon nodded.

“Yes. You two are heading down to see about Mark I gather? I’ll join you.”

We arrived in the enlarged portion of the corridor outside medical where, in these circumstances, worried partners and colleagues are required to wait. April was standing there, looking through the glass into the empty hospital room biting her knuckles. Illya Kuryakin was standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her almost like some kind of cloak, his chin resting on her head. She was snuggling into his chest for comfort. I came up and stood beside her.

“Not heart anything yet, April?”

“Still in surgery.”

“April. How are you doing?”

This was Napoleon. April shrugged and buried her face in Illya’s chest for a moment, then reached out towards Napoleon, and he enveloped her in a hug.

“Mark’s tougher than he looks, April.” Napoleon reminded her softly. “He’ll not give up without a fight.”

She nodded and sniffed, pulling away from him.

“I know, but I…”

She shook herself and turned to me.

“What happened about Maddie Daines?”

I grinned.

“We took her to see Mister Waverly. I think he was quite taken with her. He listened to her talking at him for thirty minutes or more. He was going to break the news to her about her son, but it turns out she already knew. She told us on the way back here that they shot him with an empty syringe. She was there. She said it was a large syringe, filled with just air. They pushed it into a vein or something and then tied them both up. She said he died shortly after of an attack of some kind. She thinks that injecting the air bubble into him caused him to have a stroke, but who knows?”

April nodded distractedly.

“Medical will tell us when they are ready…oh Mark, please hang on!”

Mister Waverly joined us soon after that, and we all waited together. Waverly told us, or rather, he told Mister Solo and the rest of us listened, that Maddie Daines had insisted on being taken home and that she would be fine. He had insisted on Miss Rogers accompanying her, for a day or two at least, as a personal bodyguard just in case some friends of her kidnapper had escaped the fire and came looking. Jackson he had told off to follow, and act as a guard outside her apartment until he was recalled or relieved. That was a relief anyway. Mrs. Daines was being taken care of. 

It felt like we had to wait for hours, but maybe just a couple of hours went by before we heard the door click at the end of the corridor, and Doctor Handy emerged, his mask around his neck. April glanced at us, and approached the doctor, Mister Waverly close beside her. We heard Handy speaking to them both in a low voice, and then he vanished quickly. April stayed where she was, standing with her back to us, clearly composing herself. Waverly came over.

“Doctor Handy informs us that Mister Slate has survived the operation. He had a bullet wound in his chest, very close to his heart. There has been some damage there which they have repaired to the best of their ability, and he has been stabilized.Doctor Handy says that Mister Slate’s condition is extremely serious and his chances of getting through this are no more than 50/50. Only one person at a time to sit with him please.”

April turned and headed for the door to the intensive care room. On the way, Illya touched her arm.

“A coffee?”

“Thanks, Illya.”

She flashed him a watery smile and disappeared through the door. To my consternation, I glimpsed the look of fury that Illya threw at Napoleon as he walked past him, and I shivered.

I waited until everyone was gone, and Napoleon was still staring through the window into the room where Mark Slate had now been put, surrounded by machines and monitors. April was already in her place by his side, holding his hand gently in her own.

“Napoleon, is everything all right?”

“In what way `all right,’ Sam?”

“I know it’s none of my business sir, but you and Illya seem to have fallen out. I know this must be about the worst day on record for either of you. If there is anything I can do to help…?”

He gave a watery smile and shook his head.

“Thanks Sam, but things will be fine. Illya’s angry; but as you pointed out earlier, he has a right to be considering all that has happened today. I have some things to do. See you later.”

No more information to give you after that, except that Fielding and I finished up returning to our reports, after which we went down to the commissary for coffee and a bite to eat. We found Napoleon sitting at a table surrounded by women from the typing pool, and Illya at a table on his own at the other end of the room. The two men were sitting with their backs towards each other. Illya’s face was dark and thunderous, and no one at all seemed inclined to talk to him beyond the timid expressions of sympathy which Illya appeared to barely tolerate. When he left he swept out of the room without even a glance in his partner’s direction. I waited for Napoleon’s eyes to follow him from the room, but he ignored his partner completely. What could have happened to break those two apart today of all days? With Napoleon and Illya seemingly at odds, and Mark Slate dying in medical, suddenly I was feeling worried. Very worried indeed.


	13. APRIL DANCER - Sitting Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My partner is dying in medical after being shot in the chest and I am here sitting vigil. My heart is broken and my mind is in a whirl. I really hope I don't start crying...

We were doing okay with our investigation into the shootings. We really were. We managed to find and trace the shotgun sniper, and the satrap that sent him and we flattened them. Mark and I along with Darkly and Fielding, we rescued the innocent woman they had kidnapped, whose son they had killed, and we blew up their base...but then Mark got shot in the chest!

They tried to kill my partner. He was covering my back and there was nothing I could do to help him! Now I am sitting here in medical, holding his hand. Right this second I don't care about THRUSH or anyone or anything else. Maybe it is unprofessional of me, but I can't imagine going back to the field without Mark Slate beside me.

We fight and argue like brother and sister, you know. I know some of the guys wonder whether he and I are secretly lovers, but its not like that. He's my partner. I have been beside him when he is throwing up after ingesting disgusting THRUSH drugs and concoctions; cared for him after THRUSH broke both his arms, taking care of his every need; and he has been right by my side through similar things. We work well together, we can anticipate each other to the extent that we can combine operations without even needing to talk aloud. I was a good agent when I worked alone. I am an even better agent now I have Mark, and now I might lose him.

I am looking at him lying there, tubes in and out of his body, breathing mask over his face, the heart monitor making my heart stop every time it pauses...and it has been pausing quite a lot.

Mark, please come through this!

The final part of this infernal affair has already been planned, and is being implemented, and it was all Mark's idea! Mister Waverly even agreed that it was a good idea, however unpleasant or off-the-wall it may be for those involved, not to mention the rest of us having to stand back and watch from a distance...but right now I can't even stand to think about that.

It has been two days already since we brought Mark into medical, and he hasn't moved, not even an eyelash. The doctors still are not giving him any more than a 50/50 percent chance of survival. They seem to think that he should be starting to come round by this time. I really wish he would. For the first time I am starting to wonder...no, I can't even think about that.

Illya's here now, to say hi and to check on Mark. He and Mark always got on really well. I suppose both being relatively new to this continent, they had plenty in common. Besides, Illya did some of his pre-section 2 time at the UNCLE office in London, so they have that in common as well.

Illya can see I am tired and I need to visit the bathroom really bad, so I have agreed to quickly go and deal with that...but I don't care about food. I am trying to tell him, but he just won't listen to me. I think that Napoleon is rubbing off on him. I tell him that, and Nurse Naomie chuckles and Illya scowls. It looks like he and Napoleon are still fighting. If I wasn't so worried about Mark I might be tempted ask him what is going on...

Oh Mark, please wake up for me. I need you. I'm not going anywhere until you open your eyes. Come on partner, please...I hope I am not going to cry...

I didn't take too long in the bathroom, but I couldn't stop myself from crying a bit, and smudging my make-up again. Illya hugs me as I get back and tells me he is going to go down to the commissary and get me a coffee and a bacon sandwich. Bacon is Mark's favourite. He suggests maybe the smell of bacon will persuade Mark to wake up. He is only half joking. I thank him and grab my partner's hand once again.

This sitting vigil is always hard, and frightening; especially when there is real danger that your partner may die...and sometimes the worst does happen. It has happened before and it will happen again, that section 2 agents have sat here in this very chair for days on end and then their partner loses their battle for life. Napoleon Solo lost six or seven partners before Illya, and I think four of them were right here in medical. He and Illya have both been in here many times to offer me food or drink and moral support. Never together, but they have both been down here.

I'm so tired. The doctor wants me to take the next bed and lie down, and I think it might be a good idea, but if my partner wakes up I want him to find me right here sitting beside him the way he has always been right here for me. Maybe I will just rest my head on my arms and rest my eyes...just for a minute...

What happened? I fell asleep! Goodness, I don't know what I was thinking last night. Fear and grief and tiredness all together...and I maybe a little bit hormonal right now which always makes things slightly harder to cope with...I am looking up and everything is still...wait a minute, the breathing machine is turned off...what has happened? I feel the hand I am clutching move slightly, and I look up into the warm brown eyes of my partner. He is awake and smiling at me.

"April!" he says to me, smiling weakly. "I'm glad you're awake...I really need your help..."

"What?" I ask him, hardly able to tear my eyes away from him. He's awake. He's awake!

"Please can you scratch the sole of my right foot? It has been driving me crazy for an hour!"

And now I really am crying!


	14. LISA ROGERS -  Well I Was Only Trying To Help!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending two days away from HQ on a protection detail, I find things have changed when I get back, and now I am worried, especially about Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin. I only wanted to try and help them!

Hello there. I am Lisa Rogers and I am Alexander Waverly's personal assistant and secretary. There are times when he requires a female perspective on things, especially when it would be inappropriate for him to dash home to ask his wife's opinion. I am generally the one he will speak to. I went through all the training to be a section two agent, (but that is another story altogether), so I know how to defend myself as well.

It was largely that, I suspect, that prompted him to send me home for a couple of days with the woman Sam and Paul...sorry, I mean Darkly and Fielding brought into HQ. She was once married with three sons, and now she is a widow with no sons. How she manages to stay so upbeat I cannot imagine. I think she is rather an inspirational person. I think Mister Kuryakin would enjoy her company. She has suffered losses as he has, and she is refreshingly un-self-pitying.

I have to start here by saying how devastated I am...all the women at HQ are about Illya Kuryakin. It was pretty devastating when they all learned that he was getting married and therefore permanently unavailable. Then his wife was murdered directly after the ceremony. For one month we all had the surprise and pleasure of seeing our grumpy Russian actually happy and smiling. Now...

On the day of the wedding, he started out smiling and up-beat, but as events unfolded, he became understandably grim and unsmiling. I ended that day acting as a bodyguard for Maddie Daines, and I was there for two days until I was relieved by a couple of section three agents. Jackson too, whom had been acting as doorman so to speak, was finally released from his duty and given a couple of days off. Predictably enough though, both of us headed straight back to HQ.

It is quite shocking how a protection detail can keep you out of the loop with things that are going on with your colleagues. I mean, I knew that Mark Slate had been shot whilst rescuing Maddie from that satrap, and that he was in medical with his partner closely in attendance, but I was not given any further information than that because it was deemed unwise to pass it on to Maddie. Although I can be discreet of course, I realise now in hindsight that the reality of the situation might have reflected in my facial expression and worried the lady unnecessarily. She had enough to think about as it was having just lost her only surviving son.

However, as Mister Waverly's personal assistant, I was fully briefed on my return, and I was shocked to learn about Mark. In fact, there were shocks all round in store for me that day.

I found Mark Slate still laid up in medical, still critical and even after two full days he had still not regained consciousness. April was still sitting in vigil by his side, talking interminably to him, desperate for something, some hope to hold on to.

"What are the doctors saying about his condition?" I asked her softly.

"He's hanging on. What can they say, Lisa?" April turned bleak eyes on me. "He is getting stronger slowly, but they don't seem very hopeful even so. Doctor Handy wants to turn off the ventilator. I said no, so he's going to wait for the time being and see how he is in a few hours. He says he may go over my head and speak to Mister Waverly."

I shook my head slowly. Mark Slate was always so very alive. I rubbed her back as comfortingly as I could.

"He'll surprise everyone. Mark will not let THRUSH finish everything for him, will you?" I asked the unconscious agent. There was no answering response. I turned to April, trying not to sigh aloud.

"I have to get back upstairs. Anything I can get you before I go?"

April nodded.

"Um...Illya. Could you ask Illya to come down here for a minute?"

I nodded.

"Sure thing. See you later."

I made my way upstairs to the office Mister Kuryakin shared with his partner, and knocked. Solo's voice asked me to come in and I found he was alone.

"Oh...I was looking for Mister Kuryakin, sir. I suppose he must be taking a couple of days off after what happened."

Mister Solo shook his head.

"No, he simply insists he would rather keep busy. I can't tell you where he is I'm afraid, though. I've not seen much of him for a couple of days. I'd check down in his lab. That's his most likely hiding place."

I tried, and failed, to resist the impulse to stare. Napoleon, not know he whereabouts of his partner? Was that feasible? Had that ever happened before in the history of their partnership? Not to mention not having seen him for a couple of days.

"Oh." I said lamely, "Okay...thanks, I'll try his lab."

Down in thee bowels of the earth I found Illya Kuryakin sitting at a workbench in the lab, with his elbows on the bench, his chin in his hands, watching a beaker of something clear and viscous sitting upon a stand being slowly heated by a bunsen burner.

"Excuse me?"

No response. I tried again.

"Excuse me, Mister Kuryakin? Hello?"

Still no response. I tried clearing my throat. Nothing. Nothing for it. So I stepped into the room and tapped him on the shoulder. He leapt a foot in the air like a startled cat, and grabbed me in a neck-lock before he seemed to realise it was me. He released me, swearing under his breath.

"Why didn't you just say hello, Miss Rogers?"

"I did, three times. Are you all right?"

He shrugged and returned to watching his beaker. Without looking at me, he said;

"What is it you wanted?"

"Passing on a message from Miss Dancer, sir. She's in medical sitting with her partner. She asked me to ask you if you would mind going up there to see her?"

"Oh. Hmm. All right. Thanks Miss Rogers."

He turned the burner off and walked away. I stared at his back for a moment before running to catch him up.

"What was that you were heating up in that beaker?"

"Sugar."

"Sugar? That was some kind of liquid, like white honey or something."

"Sugar with a little water, heat it slowly and let it caramelise...it was something my wife was going to teach me..."

"Shouldn't you have been stirring it?"

"No. Don't you have something to be getting on with Miss Rogers?"

With that, he turned off down a side corridor and out of sight. I sighed and returned to my office. Kuryakin clearly was not about to allow me to engage him in conversation. As I continued about my duties that day, I became increasingly aware of the quiet murmurings of the girls in the office, that appeared to cease magically when either of our senior agents were within earshot. I tried to ignore it as unnecessary rumour, but it wasn't long before I noticed the cause of their murmuring for myself. Napoleon was talking to Mavis of the typing pool about an important piece of work he had for her, when his partner entered the room. I noticed how Napoleon looked up at his partner, frowned slightly and turned, so that he would not be able to make eye contact with Illya. Illya was engrossed in a thick file which he handed to Moira.

"Thanks for this, Moira, I have memorized what I need, so if you will finish it off and return it to Miss Rogers when you are through?"

"Yes Mister Kuryakin." Moira replied formally, taking the file and putting it beside her on the table. I saw Kuryakin turn and leave the room without even acknowledging Napoleon's presence beyond a sub-zero glare. Napoleon did not even notice him leaving. What was going on between those two? I waited until lunchtime and invited two of my closest friends to join me in the park for a hotdog and some fresh air. Janice and Moira agreed readily and once I was confident that we would not be overheard, I asked them outright.

"So tell me what is the beef between Solo and Kuryakin? Those two are as thick as thieves, and yet when I was looking for Kuryakin this morning to give him a message, Solo told me he had no idea where his partner was and hadn't seen him for a couple of days. When I happened to see them in the same room they seemed to be either ignoring one another completely or sending each other filthy looks. What is going on?"

Jan and Moira looked at each other and raised their eyebrows knowingly. I noticed.

"What is it?"

"You were on that protection job with Mrs Daines, so I guess you didn't hear about it. It was the day of the wedding, the day everything kicked off. Solo and Kuryakin finally got back to HQ late that day, and they were bickering...but most partners do occasionally. This time though it just kept getting worse until finally they were shouting and yelling at one another in their office. They have been avoiding each other ever since. Napoleon refuses to admit that there is any problem at all, and we're all terrified of asking Illya...you know how frightening he is when he is angry. He seems angry all the time now."

I wondered what cold have broken up that unbreakable team of Solo and Kuryakin, now of all times? Considering that Illya had just lost his wife, and in such brutal circumstances, you would think that Solo would be sticking to him like glue. And yet...

I blinked and scratched my head.

"And no one knows why?" They shook their heads. Only one thing for it, I decided. I would have to ask Mister Waverly. Nothing got passed him. Nothing at all.

It was about two in the afternoon before I got my chance. Mister Waverly called me into his office to clear up some files and paperwork left over after a briefing with four section 2 agents he was sending to Reykjavik. I shuffled the papers awkwardly, wondering how to begin, but Waverly wasn't born yesterday and knew that something was up.

"What is on your mind, Miss Rogers?"

There is no fooling Alexander Waverly.

"I'm worried about Solo and Kuryakin, sir. They are acting very unlike themselves, sir, and the staff are starting to get...well, everyone has noticed, sir."

Waverly gave me a shrewd stare.

"They are grown men, Miss Rogers. They are well able to sort their own problems out without any outside help."

"But sir, under the circumstances..."

He put down his pipe sharply.

"Just what are the circumstances, Miss Rogers? Things are not quite normal for either of them right now, and contrary to popular opinion, they are only human, with human feelings. They are not supermen. They will work things out themselves. Solving problems is part of their job after all."

"But sir..."

"Dismissed, Miss Rogers."

"Yes, sir. Tea, sir?"

He gave me a surprised nod.

"Thank you, that would be very welcome."

Whilst I made the tea I considered the implications of Waverly not being worried about his two top agents ignoring each other and periodically trading insults and shouting at each other. Perhaps I would give it another day and see how the land lay?

The following morning I arrived to the welcome news that Agent Mark Slate had taken a definite turn for the better and had finally been able to be safely removed from his ventilator and had awakened a little while ago. April had fallen asleep sometime during the night, draped across his bed and no one had had the heart to wake her up. I wanted to go down and see the good news for myself, but I decided I would leave it for a while. Give April some time with her partner alone. Section 2s always seemed to need that.

I ran into April at lunch time in the commissary. She was sitting alone with a ham salad and a mug of soup.

"Can I join you?" I asked her. She looked up and smiled.

"Hello Lisa. Of course you can."

"April, I heard the good news about Mark. I'm so relieved."

April herself looked relieved.

"Thanks. It was touch and go for a few hours back there, and I don't mind telling you I was pretty worried. He's pretty good now. I would still be down there, but he sent me up here himself to get something to eat. He says I am going to need my strength looking after him." She laughed. "I will too. He'll keep me on my toes, I can tell you."

I smiled. It was very good news, and no surprise to me that Mark was hoping to be allowed to go home early and be taken care of by his partner. It was always the preferred option for field agents rather than stay for days in medical.

I attacked my ham and eggs, and for a moment we were both silent. I glanced round and saw Napoleon Solo strolling into the commissary with Agent Jackson. I watched them for a minute, then shook my head, still unhappy and undecided. April was watching me curiously.

"Lisa, is there anything wrong?"

"Have...have you noticed anything recently? Anything...odd about Solo and his partner?"

April shook her head at once.

"I've been down in medical with Mark for the last three days. Why? What is odd about them?"

I shrugged.

"They've fallen out...all the staff are talking about it, some are starting to speculate about what might have happened...some are saying that Illya is blaming Napoleon for not protecting Claire, others reckon that they got into some kind of a fight and are still angry. Napoleon won't apparently admit to anything and everyone's terrified of Illya. Mister Waverly simply says "don't worry, it'll blow over, they'll sort it out on their own.", but I can't see any sign of that happening any time soon. I really think someone ought to go and have a word with them. Napoleon I guess, seeing as he is the CEA."

"That and the fact that he is slightly more approachable than Illya." April replied, and she looked at me.

"Who is worried about them? Just you, Lisa?"

I shook my head.

"As Mister Waverly's assistant, all the staff seem to think that I would have privileged information and they keep coming to me, asking me what is happening, and what am I going to do? As if it's anything to do with me? But all the same, we ought to make sure that they're all right, don't you think?"

I kept my eyes on her, hoping she would read my mind. She and Mark were the closest to Illya and Napoleon, and would stand a much greater chance of getting a hearing ear at least. If she was unwilling, then I would go myself, but...

April shook her head very definitely,

"Sorry Lisa, I know you mean well, but they are section 2 agents. No one must interfere in their partnership. Not for any reason."

I felt as if she had kicked me in the belly.

"What, not even to try and help them?"

April took my hand.

"Sorry, Lisa, I know you really care, and so does everyone else, but section 2 agents have to depend on each other for their very lives. Their lives depend upon mutual trust. If something happens and they have a problem that someone else has to step in and solve for them, that would very possibly erase their mutual trust. They have to work things through for themselves. That is a basic fundamental fact of this kind of partnership. If any of us go wading in there guns blazing as it were, it would only made the edge between them larger still. It could even destroy their partnership. If Mister Waverly told you they would work it out, Lisa, that is the reason. He was once a section 2 agent himself. He knows what is at stake."

I nodded slowly. What she had told me made sense, but it was hard to hear. It was difficult to see two people whom you know are usually so close at loggerheads like that.

"So no help?"

"No help."

I thanked her for her advice and got up to leave, feeling suddenly depressed.

What I was unaware of at the time, but someone told me later, was that once I had left the room, April started to laugh quietly to herself, before getting up and following me from the room.


	15. NAPOLEON - From The Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have been arguing with my best friend for three days...and I hate it! Let me tell you why...

I hate this. I haven't been able to see or speak to my partner for three days because of this stupid plan, and at a time when I know Illya needs the moral support.

Oh, I know he says everything is ok, and he is fine, but how fine would you be in his position? I know very little about his background, but I am privileged to know more about him than anyone else, and he has spent his entire life _losing_ people.

He lost three sisters during the war, his parents and his grandparents...the only family members he had left was his Uncle Dimitry and his brother Mikhail. Well, if you have read the report on the Mikhail affair, ( its official designation, to Illya's chagrin, is The Lake of Tears Affair), you will already know how Mikhail ended up. To cut a long story short, Mikhail died as a chief scientist for THRUSH, betraying his brother Illya and leaving behind him an order for his assassination. What an affair that was. The only good thing that came out of that was that my partner found his brother's daughter Katiya who is currently living somewhere in hiding under a false name with her maternal grandfather. Someone else Illya loved and then lost. A letter once a month helps stave off the longing for each other that the two have for one another, but who knows what the future may hold? Perhaps things will change again and they will be able to be together?

Now Illya has lost his wife. But Claire was not his first wife. Illya was married once before, in Russia but the KGB objected and forcibly separated Illya from his wife and son. Elinor and three year old Dimitri drowned in the river Danube...strangely the very day Illya and I first met. I have once or twice thought about celebrating the day we first met...he saved my life that day you know, but being as it was the day his family died, it is bound to have tragic connections to poor Illya.

I am forced to ask myself, now he has lost Claire, will he ever be able to have the heart to try for happiness a third time? People who see him think he is grumpy and moody. Well, he does have that reputation, but he is not like that all the time. But even if he was, he has good reason to be. I know my partner is not the sort to do anything silly, but he does need help and support, and taking out of himself now and again, but until we find this traitor here at HQ, what can we do?

Someone gave THRUSH the details of the place and time of the wedding. We had, after all, kept it all very secret until the last minute, but still they had people there ready and waiting. Only someone from the inside could have passed on that information. We have a THRUSH mole in our midst. Illya and I keeping up this ridiculous farce of being angry and arguing with each other is intended to make our mole think they have succeeded in breaking us apart as a team, and hopefully walk into a trap we have carefully laid out. And no, I'm not saying any more than that in case the mole finds out what I am saying!

I don't really want to talk any more right now. This is very upsetting. Even when Illya and I pass in the corridors and there is no one else around we have to keep up the act, because every inch of the place is covered by closed circuit television cameras, and believe me, they are routinely monitored by the security department.

The only good thing that has happened is that Mark Slate has come round. It was looking very grim for him for a while, and I know that his partner April was terrified that she was going to lose him. Now the news is that he is going to be fine. He'll be out of the field for a while, but all is going to be fine. That is a relief, I can tell you. He and April work as well together as Illya and I do, and they are a very valuable team. Because April is close friends of both Illya and myself, and she was there when we were working out this plan, the only way I can get any personal message to Illya is through her at the moment.

* * *

Sorry about the interruption, but I have just had April in the office to talk to me. She was approached in the commissary by Lisa Rogers. Miss Rogers has apparently been plagued by dozens of UNCLE staff members, asking her to find out what has happened between Kuryakin and myself, and to try and do something about it. Miss Rogers, fortunately, had the sense to approach April about the matter, and April was able to hopefully reassure her that we will sort out our own problems in our own time. It is good of Lisa to worry though. That girl has a heart of the purest gold! This means that the end of this sorry affair is hopefully within sight, and I can find out for myself how my partner really is coping.

What worries me is when things really are finished with, and we are all able to relax, how far will Illya fall? I will never be able to forget how I felt when my wife died, and even though that was a long time ago, my heart still aches when I think of her.

In Illya's last letter to his niece Katiya, he told her excitedly all about Claire, and how she would soon have a new Auntie to meet one day, and Katiya's reply came the day before the wedding. She was all excited and happy and was looking forward to finding out everything that happened, and where they went on their honeymoon and what they ate at their party...Illya will now have to write back and give the child the news about what has happened...How do you give news of that kind to a six year old child in a letter?

Sorry, I seem to be getting very maudlin now, but my anger is up on my partner's behalf, and I think we are going to have to stage a showdown soon for the benefit of our traitor. This is what I have been dreading from the very start. I don't know if I will be able to bring myself to tell you about that regardless of the way it works out. It will be hard enough going through it once, without having to regurgitate it all again for you. Sorry, nothing personal. I'm sure someone will take up the reins and tell you more.

I need a drink!


	16. JOEL BUCHANAN - I am Illya's Brother-in-Law after all . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am Illya Kuryakin's brother-in-law. Claire was my kid sister. I'll talk, but it's not easy...

I am Claire's oldest brother, in case you don't know me. I'm surprised that you want to hear from me about this, because I know nothing about the investigation. Mind you, I suppose there are some back home who might say we should be angry about what has happened, that we should blame Illya or something, but what would be the point of that? Besides, Illya is a good bloke, and our Claire was besotted with him. When he first broke off their...romance...way back when, the first thing she did was come home and cry all over us. She was already in love with him then. And trust me, our Claire was not one to give her heart away to someone who didn't deserve it.

The day would have been perfect. The ceremony was sweet and amusing. Illya was so nervous he forgot himself and went all Russian on us, saying _Da!_ instead of _I will_! So Claire being Claire just made everyone laugh by copying him and saying _Da!_ , and when the registrar objected, changed it to something like "I will with knobs on!"

They were proclaimed Man and Wife, and you know, at that moment I looked at the best man, Illya's best mate. That Napoleon Solo...(why did they call him Napoleon? I suppose John or Michael were too boring as names? Who on earth except for Mr and Mrs Bonaparte would call a tiny helpless baby _Napoleon_?) Sorry, I digress. That chap Solo was watching them as they claimed one another, and the look on his face was as if...the way a starving child might watch a fat man eating a fillet steak. An expression of longing almost. I know he was facing the prospect of doing his job without his best friend from then on, but that wasn't it. He was almost envious. As if Illya was doing something he had only ever dreamed of doing. I might ask Illya if I get the chance, only until now it seemed an inappropriate thing to ask.

I know how badly Solo was affected by what happened outside the registry building though. We were all inside being treated for shock and speaking to officials and all of that, whilst Solo went outside...the next thing I knew his boss, the Englishman Alexander Waverly muttered "Oops" and darted away from me. I followed him outside and saw him crouching over someone who was hunched on the steps, being violently sick over the edge. It turned out to be this chap Napoleon Solo. \it just goes to show that no matter who we are or what we do for a living, you never get used to death. Especially when it touches someone you care about.

At first we thought Illya was dead too, but when they were rushed off, they were both still alive. Claire died in hospital without ever waking up. Poor Claire. She was a good kid you know. A bit mischievous as a child, but Andy and I adored her. As for Jeanie...she's the youngest of the four of us, she's just gone to pieces I'm afraid. They took her to hospital for treatment for shock, and mum and dad haven't been able to leave her for very long. Claire and Jeannie always were pretty close, and I guess I know how she feels...oh well, maybe not, but I know how _I_ feel, and I still keep expecting Claire to come walking in through the door. I can't believe she is really gone.

The only thing keeping us going I suppose is worrying about Illya. He's lost her too, but in a way it has to be worse for him. I don't think many people know, but Claire told me that she was going to be Illya's second wife. She told me his first wife died of a tragic accident. He lost his boy too. I don't know, I suppose Illya will have seen more than his fair share of trauma. Judging by his age and where he came from, he would have been a tiny kid, right there in the middle of all the troubles when the Nazis invaded the Ukraine during the war. What he must have gone through then I suppose no one will ever know. I think that if she hadn't been murdered, Claire would have earned his trust. He would have told her everything. She was just that special. She was such a wonderful person, how will any of us ever survive without her...sorry, I can't do this right now...I have to go...

* * *

Hmm, sorry about that. What is it you actually want to know? I still think I have nothing very helpful to tell you. We spent hours in the hospital with Claire and then Illya. Then Illya, the dolt, ran away from hospital and Solo chased after him. He wasn't even dressed, the fool. As I recall he ran off down the emergency exit dressed in blue hospital pyjamas and a pair of old man's brown slippers. He never came back though, and neither did Solo. Waverly reassured us that they were working on finding the people responsible for the shootings and the killings, and they would see that justice was done. They asked us to delay Clare's funeral until they had completely managed to deal with all loose ends. Otherwise, he said, there was an outside chance of something similar happening again at the funeral or the memorial service. So right now we are staying in a small but luxurious hotel on the edge of the city...that is Andy, Jeannie, dad and mum and I. Elaine, Claire's schoolfriend who was the bridesmaid dashed off home as soon as she was released from hospital. Just couldn't handle the reality of what happened. I can't say I blame her. We all kind of feel that way a bit. Grandad and granny are staying with Mister Waverly and his wife. Aexander and Katherine are taking very good care of us, and they are making sure that we have everything we need.

I wondered if we would see a little more of Illya, considering that he is our brother-in-law now...well he was for five minutes... look, this is not so easy to talk about. I can't insist on seeing the guy. I love him as my sister's husband, my brother-in-law, and we are family now. The thing is, I wonder whether he will want anything more to do with us once this investigation is over and the funeral done? We would be just a reminder of everything he has lost, right?

At this moment, Claire has been dead for four days, two hours and thirty-three minutes, and they still haven't given us a final date. I think something is in the wind. I went round to visit Illya at home last night. He was red-eyed when he opened the door and I expected him to ask me to go. I have learned how private he is, but he invited me inside. He had been pouring over letters and photos of himself and Claire, and their marriage certificate was laying on the table. I hate to admit to this, but the sight of all those reminders of Claire, and Illya was clearly not coping nearly as well as he was pretending to, it kind of got to me. I found myself wiping my eyes before I realised it. That seemed to set him off and so we had a...what would you call it? A weep-fest? Between running through memories and looking at photos, re-reading old love-letters and talking about what their plans had been for the future...how many kids they had talked about having...we were setting each other off and making each other worse. By midnight, I was as red-eyed as he was, we'd both been blubbing out our sorrows for three hours, but we felt all the better for it. Its like my old gran always says, the best way to help someone who is weeping is not to try and cheer them up, but to be there, and if necessary, weep with them. Illya thanked me for coming round and asked if I wanted to sleep on the sofa to save finding a cab at this time of night? So I did. When I thanked him profusely, he gave me a slightly shy smile and said something that made my heart jump.

"Don't be silly, Joel, we're family, are we not?"

"Does that mean we will still be able to see you? Even despite...?"

Illya nodded as he handed me a thick blanket from his cupboard.

"It will be hard for me, but it will be for you too I think...but I lost all my own family a long time ago. Sometimes it helps to know that you belong somewhere...that there are people...aside from work, who care about what happens to you..."

* * *

I will stop there. The conversation continued for a few minutes more, but that is between us. Family. I don't know yet when this investigation will be over, but Illya thinks it might be soon. He has something going on at work that is worrying him I think but he won't say what it is. I get the impression that he is worrying about his friend Napoleon. I happen to know that Napoleon is worrying about him. Why they have stopped communicating I don't know. Illya wouldn't tell me that either. I hope everything goes okay today, whatever it is they are worrying about...I get the idea that everything hangs on it, and a lot of things could go wrong...


	17. Napoleon - This Was One of My Worst Days Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day I had been dreading arrived, the day Illya and I were to stage our spectacular `falling out'. You might think something like this might be fun...pretending, fooling everyone...? Not for me it wasn't...

I still don't want to talk about this. I've agreed because Doctor _Fergus_ has specifically asked me to...so I'll go first just to get it over and done with. I don't about Illya, but I'm going to need a month's R  &R when this is all over. If I am lucky, Mister Waverly might let me have two days.

We didn't need to confer or anything. What was to happen was arranged well in advance, but that did not make it any easier. Originally the idea had been for us to yell insults at each other that everyone would believe completely unforgivable. I'll leave it to your imagination to decide what that might be...but Illya and I are so different and come from such different backgrounds, that for someone looking for ammunition, there would be a glut of material. I can't do that, though. I said so right from the start. I still don't know what to say...how can I pretend to be angry with my best friend? I've already apologised to Illya for anything that might happen or be said in the course of playing along and making things look real. Illya is the superlative actor though. He is the one who I always send on the important undercover jobs because he lives the part. He becomes the part in a way I never can. He seems to be able to switch on and off a kind of `brat' button and is capable of saying and doing the worst things and look as though he really means it. Then I go to see him afterwards and very often he is spewing his guts...simply out of reaction. He never means it. He is simply a brilliant actor. He could make a fortune on Broadway, and no mistake.

So anyway, as we have done these last few days I arrived and went straight down to the commissary for some coffee and a croissant or something. Illya was not there. Strange, I thought, but I found myself a seat at a table on my own, facing most of the room. I was halfway through my coffee when my partner appeared in the doorway. I saw his eye sweep the room, then he waved a hello to April, and he headed past me straight for the counter. I heaved a sigh, swallowed the rest of my coffee down and leapt to my feet, hoping that I had timed things right.

Sure enough, Illya came rushing past me again just as I moved my chair out and he fell over it, hitting his head on the edge of the table and spilling hot tomato soup all over his shirt, his hands and face and all over the floor. Incidentally, a good portion of it went down the front of my trousers.

I looked down at my trousers as he was getting to his feet, fixing a look of annoyance on my face.

"Illya, you clumsy great oaf, now look what you've done!" I made sure my voice was pitched to carry.

"It isn't my fault Napoleon." he retorted, his face turning red with suppressed annoyance. (I wish he'd tell me how he does that, by the way) "Why don't you look before you leap out on people? You leap first and look afterwards. No wonder you keep smashing up our cars on assignment! Look what you've done to my shirt! This was my last clean shirt after you squirted your chocolate milk all over my last one!"

"Chocolate milk? Illya, that was last week! Do you mean to say you haven't even bothered to wash your work shirts in a week?"

"I wasn't supposed to be here this week Napoleon! If you remember I was supposed to have been on my honeymoon! And who was the one who promised to make that day one to remember, huh? You certainly managed that all right. I will never be able to forget my wedding day, for as long as I live!"

I raised my voice to a shout, with as much indignation as I could.

"How dare you, Illya!? How can you possibly blame all of that on me? And don't give me that about smashing up all our cars. Who was it that drove the last one into the river? That was you, not me!"

"Napoleon, you grabbed the steering wheel! You were high on that stuff THRUSH gave you. I knew at the time I should made you keep that straight-jacket on until we were back here! Like a fool I swallowed all your pretty little words about being absolutely fine. You've never been fine!" He turned and started to walk away. "Mentally impaired, more like!"

I glared at his back, more aware than ever of all the eyes watching our scene. I grabbed him by the shoulder and whirled him round to face me.

"Illya, don't you walk away from me when I am talking to you."

"You're not talking, you're shouting, and I am not here to listen to you talking a lot of rubbish! I have more important things to do than waste my time listening to you complaining about your pretty suit."

I took a deep breath and lowered my voice, so that although still audible, everyone had to strain to hear me. I was aware of the entire room in silence. I could hear the clock ticking on the wall behind me, and I could almost hear the beating of my heart in my chest.

"Illya, I am the CEA here, and I am the senior partner, and you need to listen to what I need to say to you. You're grieving, I know, and I'm sorry about your wife, but that is no reason to..."

I got no further. Suddenly a fist appeared out of nowhere and smashed me on the chin. I landed on my back, and as the room started to fade around me, I distinctly heard Illya say;

"That is it, my friend. I have had enough. You can find someone else to listen to your nonsense. I am your partner no longer!"

When I next opened my eyes, I was lying on a bed in medical. In the next bed, Mark Slate was propped slightly on banked up pillows. Nurse Naomie was fussing around my bed. She smiled at me as I started to get up/

"Stay!" she said to me, as if I had been a dog. "You stay and you don't move until the doc has checked you out."

"How long was I out?"

I glanced across to Mark.

"And are you all right, my friend?"

He nodded.

"Sore...punctured...but I'll be fine. You were brought in here about ten minutes ago. Naomie says that Illya socked you one! Is it true?"

I nodded, rubbing my chin. It was very sore.

"I wondered how long he would put up with your annoying habits, guv." Mark commented with a grin.

"Very funny, Mark."

I turned to the nurse.

"Did you happen to witness our...um...?"

Naomie nodded. She looked faintly disapproving.

"You could have been a little more understanding Napoleon!" She remonstrated with me. "After all, Illya has just had one of the worst weeks in his entire life. You were not helping matters with your high-handed attitude. You could at least have shown some of the kindness and patience you are known for showing to the women around here,"

"I always try to be kind and patient with everyone." I replied, unable to quite keep a sulk out of my voice. "But this week Illya has been asking for it."

She came over and sat on the end of my bed.

"Napoleon, he has just lost his wife...right after the ceremony for crying out loud. His whole life, all his plans for the future have just been flushed down the toilet. How can you be so unfeeling? I know he can be a little arrogant at times, but he really is hurting! You should go and apologise to him."

"As soon as he shows me the bruise _I_ left on _his_ chin!"

Naomie turned away, a look of disgust on her face.

"You bruised him all right, Mister Solo." she said, "Except that you bruised him on the inside, where it doesn't show. I hope your new partner is a person without a heart to break."

I wished Mark well, and walked out of medical at that point. I had had enough of everything. For two pins, or even for one I would have gone home, slammed my door and stayed there, but I still had a job to do. Everywhere I went on my way to Miser Waverly's office, I found people avoiding catching my eye. Clearly, Illya was the one with the sympathy vote, and I had been cast in the role of the ogre.

Under the circumstances we had guessed that it would happen that way, but it did not make things any easier. Mister Waverly was waiting for me. He had witnessed the whole scene using a direct feed from the security cameras in the commissary. He threw me a searching look as I dropped into a chair with a feeling of extreme depression.

"Are you going to be all right, Mister Solo?"

I looked the older man in the eye and shrugged and then shook my head.

"I don't think so, sir. Let's just get on with it, shall we?"

Waverly nodded.

"Very well, Mister Solo. Mister Kuryakin and Miss Dancer left for a conciliatory drink just after he knocked you out. They should be all set up by now. We'll need some patience, but let us just wait and see whether we get a bite."

Sorry, that's it for now. I can't tell you any more. I wouldn't have told you this much if it hadn't been for the new doc in the psyche department, doctor Fergus. He also wants to hear the same story from Illya's point of view. Good luck with that. If Illya doesn't want to talk, he won't. He's not known for being loquacious either. I'm going to go home right now, take a long, hot bath and an early night.

Good night!


	18. ILLYA - All About Me And Napoleon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know that many people call me the Ice Prince...well, let me tell you the truth here...I think perhaps they may have a point . . .

Napoleon and I had talked this over with Mark and April, and then again with Mister Waverly. Only the five of us knew what we had planned, and how we were going to go about it. I hated the idea right from the start, but it was the one that seemed most likely to work quickly to weed out our traitor. The person ultimately responsible for the murder of Claire Kuryakina. My wife.

You're going to think me cold and uncaring now, but despite the fact that it was my partner and best friend I would be pitting myself against, in a strange way I was looking forward to it.

They call me the Ice-Prince at HQ. Perhaps because I am not in the habit of wearing my heart on my sleeve, and I know I can be pretty ruthless when I need to be. You can thank my past… _employers_ …for that I'm afraid; but it is not a trait that I have been encouraged to lose in working for the U.N.C.L.E. It is why I am able to work undercover, wearing disguises and remain undiscovered regardless of the tasteless or unpleasant duties that are thrown my way. It is because I am able to focus all my attention on the desired result at the end of the job in order to dismiss any emotional baggage that may be involved with working hand-in-glove with the bad guys.

At least, _usually_ that is so.

There have been one or two occasions where my sensibilities were so badly affected that I had been tempted to throw in the towel and walk away leaving the job unfinished.

Unfortunately for Napoleon, this was not one of those occasions.

I owe Napoleon my life, many times over, but then he owes me too. We work well together. We are very different, but we complement each other. We each fill the desired gaps in the other's knowledge or experience, but we overlap well enough too that we work smoothly, like a well-oiled machine. It means that I know what I mean to him, and how far he would go to save me, and he knows the same of me. He knows I would die for him in a second. Come to that I nearly have done so on several occasions. He also knows that I will pursue this road to the end, wherever it may take me, especially considering that this is about finding my wife's killer.

Napoleon went into this whole thing knowing that I would not hold back either my words or my actions if it meant putting on a convincing show. It doesn't mean I enjoyed hurting my partner; I hated it. My heart bled with every scathing word I used on him, and I couldn't help admiring his acting skill. He is better at that than he thinks he is…and if you quote me on that, I will deny it!

We started slowly, because most big arguments that people do get into start off usually by being very small and not bothering to listen to each other. We simply made sure people were around when we showed those almost unnoticeable signs of irritation at each other. My most famous of course, is the eye-roll, but I saw Napoleon rolling his eyes more than once. It worked though. Within a day or two I noticed people being extra-kind and polite to me…although that might have had as much to do with my demeanor as anything else. Considering that I had just lost my wife and I was forced to ignore my best friend at the same time, I was not in the mood to be jolly and friendly with anyone.

The only point during that horrible week that was not completely black and pointless was the evening of the third day…or was it the fourth? Anyway, my brother-in-law Joel turned up at my apartment out of the blue to visit me. He seemed nervous at first, uncertain that he would be welcome. As it happened, he caught me at a point when I had finally succumbed to the urge to gaze upon my wife's lovely face. But looking at pictures led to our letters, and then our marriage certificate…and before I knew it…

Well, anyway Joel turned up and caught me right in the middle of feeling very sorry for myself and quite unable to pull myself out of it. I think, if it had been Napoleon I might have initially made more of an effort to pull myself together in front of him. Somehow though, with Joel I didn't feel that way. He took one look at me and saw the piles of pictures on my table, and he fell into my arms, tears on his cheeks. We sat on the living room floor, surrounded by pictures and talked until midnight, and for some reason, neither of us felt any awkwardness or embarrassment showing our grief for Claire. More than that, unlike most of the people at work, Joel was not afraid to talk about Claire. Napoleon would have talked about her, and encouraged me to do the same, but since he and I were necessarily estranged, until Joel's visit, I had had nobody. Nobody to talk to, to vent to. It is surprising how much difference that made to me. Just having someone there who shared my love for Claire, who shared my feelings of loss. Who was able to sit and weep with me rather than try offering useless words of comfort.

The next morning was the morning of my planned `big scene' with Napoleon. I couldn't tell Joel anything except that I hoped things would be sorted out soon. He asked me if there was anything practical he could do to help. At first I shook my head, then I changed my mind. Suzie Mildenhall…Mike Mildenhall's widow was probably having a just as bad time. She had just given birth to twins and then lost her husband within a couple of weeks. She was being taken care of, of course. UNCLE are good at that; but Joel had helped me last night when I had wondered how I would cope. Perhaps she too would appreciate a sympathetic ear. Joel was pleased and not a little proud of the suggestion, and he asked me if he could bring along his sister Jeannie? He felt it was possible that Suzie and Jeannie might even be able to help each other to cope with their losses?

Why is Joel not a therapist?

Anyway, I finally made it into work and down to the commissary. Napoleon was there sitting alone in a corner, which I thought unusual. Then again perhaps it made it easier for him to focus on the unpleasant task ahead.

He was very efficient. He pushed his chair out in front of me so suddenly as I was passing him with a bowl of hot tomato soup that my falling over the chair and spilling the soup everywhere was not by any means any kind of choreographed stunt. It was absolutely genuine. It made our argument that followed a lot easier to improvise than either of us had expected. I won't go into everything that we said to each other, but I did allow myself to sink into the part I was playing. When Napoleon brought the death of my wife into the argument, I decided that that was where it must end. Otherwise I would have been in imminent danger of blubbing in front of everyone. That would have killed my Ice-Prince image forever. So I hit him.

I didn't even wait for my partner to hit the ground, nor to see if I had knocked him out or not. I told him loudly that our partnership was over, and stalked out of the room.

As planned, I made my way straight back to reception, handed my badge over without a comment and out on to the street. Two blocks away, April caught me up.

"Are you all right Illya?"

"Yeah, just wonderful. I just punched my best friend in the face and ended our partnership. If he takes me at my word, it will mean I will have lost the two things that I care about most in the whole world. How is he by the way? Did you wait to find out?"

April nodded with a slight smile.

"You knocked him out. He was being carried down to medical when I left. When he comes round he'll go straight up to Mister Waverly's office. Let us get ourselves settled too."

I nodded and we made our way to Sam's builder's yard, owned by UNCLE, where we kept an articulated lorry, its interior fitted out as a mobile HQ. It was an ideal place for monitoring all broadcasts from both inside and outside headquarters. We settled in, tapes going, both listening hard to every transmission leaving the UNCLE building.

I still feel uncomfortable about the number of romantic conversations we listened in on, but in our own defense, it was necessary.

We were there for nine hours before we heard what we had been listening for. We heard a soft voice, using a frequency not used by UNCLE, and not routinely monitored except in exceptional circumstances like this one.

"Come in THRUSH Central. Come in, THRUSH Central. Agent 940."

A bass voice came through the speakers in response.

"THRUSH Central. What do you have to report Agent 940?"

"Mission successfully completed, Central. UNCLE Agents Solo and Kuryakin are no longer a double threat. Repeat, they are no longer a double threat."

"Good work Agent 940. What happened?"

"They had a big fight over breakfast, Kuryakin punched out Solo and broke up their partnership for good. This whole place has been rocked by it. They are all busy taking sides one or the other."

"Very well, Agent 940. Good work. Keep monitoring the situation with UNCLE. You will be contacted in due course."

My communicator beeped. It was Waverly.

"Were you monitoring all of that Mister Kuryakin?"

"Yes sir. Are you in lockdown, sir?"

"Yes indeed Mister Kuryakin. Mister Solo is waiting for you in Del Floria's with the override code. You will deal with this matter together. Miss Dancer will remain with the mobile HQ until a security detail arrives to continue monitoring the frequencies for THRUSH."

"Yes sir. On my way. Out."

I turned to April, and she nodded and gave me a quick peck on the nose.

"Go, Illya, and…"

"Yes?" I paused in the act of opening the rear doors. She looked seriously at me.

"I know you have just cause, my friend, but we want justice for your wife. Not revenge."

I nodded.

"Justice. I've heard of it. It is that tool by which innocent people are guilty until they can prove themselves to be innocent, and guilty people are set free on a technicality only to kill again…and again."

April looked suddenly worried.

"Illya, promise me you won't take the law into your own hands?"

"Do I look like a vigilante?"

She shook her head.

"No, you look like a man who has just lost his wife. "

I nodded, swallowing something.

"Probably because I am a man who has just lost his wife. Don't worry, April, I'll have Napoleon with me to make sure I behave myself."

She nodded, but did not look completely reassured. It was her very uncertainty that made me think for the first time what I would say or do when faced with this traitor? I was shocked to find that I was not as certain as I had been before.


	19. napoleon - And Finally . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Thrush mole was finally trapped, so Illya and I set off for a showdown. Would I really need to hold my angry and vengeful partner back?

NAPOLEON – _And finally . . ._

I had a telephone call from Illya's brother-in-law first thing this morning, asking me to go easy on Illya if I could, because the man was really hurting; even if he denies it. That was all he said. His actual reason for the call had been to let me know that Illya had asked him and his sister to call on Mildy's widow, and had forgotten to give him the address. I passed it on gladly, and assured Joel that all would be well.

I waited for my partner in Del Floria's. He was two blocks away monitoring events, just in case something happens inside HQ. You can probably imagine the kind of things that could go wrong, considering the fact that there is a traitor in our midst. Anyway, the whole place was on lockdown, which meant that even Alexander Waverly was restricted to his office until either he or I released the lockdown. On this occasion he had put the ball as they say, squarely in my hands. I could release the whole place, or keep it in lockdown and open up one door at a time. This is precisely what I planned on doing, with Illya beside me. Interestingly, it was the reason we had to move fast. Not because there was any risk of the traitor escaping, but with all of the staff trapped in their various locations, if we took too long, we would end up with an entire building full of people desperate to relieve nature.

When Illya arrived he looked thunderous. His blue eyes were dark and stormy, his accent when he spoke much thicker than normal and his right hand kept tapping his thigh, as if it was itching to do something. I trust my partner's moral sense, absolutely, but considering we were about to confront the woman responsible for getting Claire killed, I knew that this was going to be one of the biggest temptations Illya had ever faced. I was certain that he would control whatever anger and rage filled him, but I needed to be ready… _just in case_.

"Did you recognize the woman, Napoleon?" he demanded as soon as he saw me. I hesitated. His eyes darkened.

"Well? Did you?"

"I think so." I replied. He nodded.

"Good. Me too. She carries a loaded gun at all times, like all the women here. We may have to shoot her…"

I fixed my eye on him.

"Illya, the idea is to capture her and make her answer for her actions. That is all."

His eyes narrowed.

"Justice again?"

I nodded.

"You take justice into your own hands, Illya, you know where you will end up. I don't want that, even if you do."

He glared at me, and for an instant I had a sudden qualm, which I instantly quashed. The man was really, really hurting and with good reason. I knew I would be feeling vengeful in his place.

Illya responded with some choice Russian phrases which I will not repeat, but I met his glare in full.

"Illya, I mean it. No vengeance, no heroics to tempt her into any reaction. You follow my lead and we capture her alive and unharmed. Am I making myself clear?"

"As crystal."

"Good. Thanks for the bruise on my chin, by the way. It goes so well with the bruises on my shoulder from our last training session."

Illya flashed me a look and said nothing. We collected our badges from Karen in reception and I entered the code into the keypad in my hand. The door slid open and we passed through it side by side. As we moved off down the corridor, we heard the door closing and re-locking behind us. Joel was right, I reflected. Illya was hurting a great deal more than he was letting on. I still have a very vivid recollection of how I had felt when my wife died…no other pain like it. But somehow, for Illya it had to be worse still, given how much he had already lost in his life. He was hurting to beat all, and I hadn't even been there to help him. Surely there could have been a better way to catch our woman?

Once we reached the top of the building, I knew I would have no choice but to trust my partner not to shoot her outright. We paused by the door to the roof terrace. I looked at him. Illya looked tired and drawn, his eyes slightly glassy as they often were when he was sick. His right hand was still ceaselessly tapping against his thigh, and his right foot had started tapping. He looked so sad, my heart ached for him. He had been so happy a few days ago, and now he gave every appearance of a man who would never smile again. I reached out and rested my hand on his shoulder.

"Are you going to be all right, my friend?"

He tried, but failed, to smile.

"I'm always all right." He replied in a light tone. I shook my head.

"No Illya, you're not always. But I'm here with you. We do this together."

He met my eyes and this time he managed to smile, albeit wanly.

"Together."

For about five seconds, we were still, staring at each other, then we both grinned and opened the door. Illya cut to the left and stationed himself out of sight behind the corner of the wall. Our quarry was standing with her back to us, leaning over the parapet, dressed in the regulation blue and white of the female support staff, a weapon in its holster in the small of her back. Black, seamed fishnet tights and ridiculously high heeled shoes somehow changed the uniformity of her outfit into something that was clearly intended to be a great deal more alluring. I don't know about Illya, but I have never been an admirer of that particular look, as it always seemed to me to belong more appropriately to those women who sold their services on the street corners at night in the seedier parts of the city. I stepped silently forward, but in a moment, she whipped her gun from its holster and fired, missing my right foot by a fraction.

"Get back, Solo."

I stayed put.

"You might as well give up, Jill. You put your gun down and come with me alive, or you can shoot me and you will most definitely end up dead. What is it to be?"

Jill Watson, in her mid-thirties, was by no means beautiful, but she had a youth and freshness to her face that most women lose as they leave their teens behind. Her hair was mousy brown, straight and rather dull, pulled back at the nape of her neck with a plain elastic band. She wore no makeup, save for a little powder. She came across as someone who knew she was attractive, but was determined to be seen as pure and natural. She was a woman I had taken out on one or two occasions, but although she was a good dancer, she was not easy to talk to, and I had found myself on both occasions cutting the evening short before she started to get any ideas.

She had been initially hired to work in the kitchen, to help with washing dishes and peeling potatoes. After three months of dropping and breaking dishes, she had been transferred to the communications hub where she had once again made a complete hash of everything she did. Within a week she had been moved again. This time into Lisa Rogers' office, to serve out time as her assistant; mostly because she would then be working under Lisa's eagle eye, and therefore unable to make any more sorrowful errors. To everyone's surprise, she had blossomed, and had done so well, that Lisa had been able to hand off work to her, and know that it would be completed to a high standard. It had occurred to more than one person to wonder if her earlier incompetence had been an act, simply to get herself transferred to a position she wanted.

Looking at her now, I no longer had any doubt. She had been in complete control of her UNCLE career all along. She leered at me.

"As soon as I found the door locked, I realized that I had been rumbled. So, what was it that gave me away?"

"Do you have any close friends, Jill?"

She blinked.

"Huh?"

"Any close friends? I would guess not, because if you had, you would know that true friends do not turn their backs on each other when bad things happen."

She scoffed.

"Well you two did…" she petered out as she heard a noise from behind her and turned to find Illya standing there, his gun drawn and pointed at her heart. Her head whipped back and forth, staring wide-eyed first at me, and then at my partner.

"You two are together still?"

Illya's eyes glittered dangerously.

"You made a very big mistake, Jillian Watson, when you picked on us. You see, we're not just _any_ partners. We are Solo and Kuryakin."

Illya looked over her head at me.

"Forgive me for punching you, my friend."

"Don't mention it, partner. It was well worth a bruise on the chin to catch this little minx."

Jill started to back along the parapet so that she could keep us both in sight without turning her back on either of us.

"So what was all that about? You've been screaming and shouting at each other all week, and then that scene downstairs. You mean that was all a game? For me?"

I shook my head.

"Oh, it was no game, Jill, believe me. You seem to forget that we are Section Two. We are field agents. Our job is to do whatever we need to do in order to get the job done. This time we had to pretend to fall out in order to fool you into giving yourself away."

Illya stepped towards her, causing her to step backwards again.

"And it worked. Didn't it, Miss Watson? Do you want to know your biggest mistake of all? You killed _my wife_. By doing that, you made certain that Napoleon and I would be pushed even closer together than we were before. I would put that gun down."

"What? You'll kill me Mister Russian? You do that and you'll be dead too. Either here at UNCLE or they'll ship you back home again and your own people will do it."

Illya smiled at her. It was a feral smile. I shivered. Jill did too.

"Oh no, Miss Watson. I did wonder if I would want to kill you, but death is too good for you. If you raised that gun of yours, I will be forced to shoot you in defense of my partner. Not in the head or the heart, but in the hands."

She frowned.

"Why the hands? Are you stupid?"

I suddenly laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. Crazy Russian. Illya caught my eye. I could see he was beginning to enjoy himself.

"Oh no. Your whole life is tied up in your hands. Without them you will need someone to help you do everything. Feed you, dress you, brush your hair…help you in the toilet…"

"You wouldn't."

Illya cocked his gun.

"Try me."

He looked her in the eye and did not blink. For several seconds she kept her gun levelled at me, then she dropped it and fell to her knees, sobbing. Illya kicked her gun out of her reach, and grabbed her roughly and hauled her to her feet.

"Do you have any cuffs on you, Mister Solo?"

"As it happens, yes I do Mister Kuryakin. Allow me."

I withdrew the cuffs from my inner pocket where I had secreted them and secured her hands behind her back whilst Illya held her in a tight grip. As he manhandled her towards the stairs, I took out my communicator pen.

"Open Channel D. Number one in section one."

"Waverly here."

"Traitor secured, sir. Recommend lifting the security lockdown now, sir."

"Good. Who is it?"

"Jill Watson, sir. We have her secured. We're bringing her down to maximum security now."

"Good work, gentlemen. When security have her, if you would both report to my office?"

"Yes sir. Out."

Illya and I resisted the impulse to say anything until we had handed our prisoner over to the chief of security Warren Chivers and watched him search her thoroughly, remove any potentially dangerous item from her person, including her UNCLE and THRUSH communicators, her shoes and her tights, and then locked her in a high security cell until the arrangements for her removal to the secure UNCLE prison in Greenland had been finalized.

We remained silent until we reached Waverly's office. He met us at the door and handed us each a drink. A large scotch for me and a large vodka for Illya. We sat in our usual positions, sipping our drinks and looking straight ahead. I think, now that it was over, we were in adrenalin free-fall. In shock, perhaps. It had been a very, very long week.

Waverly took a long swig at his drink and handed Illya a small envelope.

"Mister Kuryakin, you and Mister Solo have done an excellent job this week, under extremely difficult circumstances. I have been in communication with Susie Mildenhall regarding the funeral service of her husband Michael, and she has made her wishes known to me, and I will deal with all the arrangements. Now that our mole is out of the way, it will be safe for you to…"

Suddenly, to my shock, Waverly's voice dried up. I don't remember that ever happening before. Illya nodded.

"Thank you, sir. I…I need to speak to Claire's family and see what they want to do. Can I let you know sir?"

Waverly nodded.

"Anything you need from us, Mister Kuryakin…anything at all, just let me know. It is your choice of course, but if you both feel you would like a few days' break…"

I broke in before Illya could speak.

"Thank you sir…I think we would both appreciate that."

He smiled.

"Write out your report now then, and take ten days' leave. Let us know about Mrs. Kuryakina's funeral as soon as you are ready."

Within two hours, we were through, and we left headquarters together. We stood on the top step outside Del Floria's and looked at each other.

"Illya…" I began, "I know I have already said it, but I am sorry about those things I say to you today…you know I didn't mean any of them…"

"I know." he replied, "and for the record Napoleon, I didn't mean it either. I do however, need to thank you."

"For what?"

"For being there."

"For being where? It seems to me I had to spend most of this week avoiding you. It was the longest week I've ever had…"

"I know, but you had no choice. But you were here when I needed you the most. You reminded me why I am here, and you helped me to see reason when without you I might have…"

I shook my head.

"You wouldn't have."

"I might have. I wanted to."

"Well, so did I, but you wouldn't have, Illya. You may be a crazy Russian sometimes, but you are not a mad Russian. You are a good man. Never doubt that."

"You have that much faith in me Napoleon? You believed that I would not kill Miss Watson, even though I could still see my wife's dead face in front of my eyes the whole time?"

"I knew you wouldn't kill her. You are my friend. I believe in you. Completely. Go to your family now, Illya. Tell them that it is all over."

"My family? You mean Claire's family?"

"They still regard you as their family, my friend, even though she has been lost. They need you, and I think you need them."

"I need you too, and I think you need me Napoleon. I know that lost look in your eyes."

I nodded.

"You're right, but I am your partner. They are your family now."

Illya wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"You are family too, my friend. You are my brother. Come, we'll go together. Besides, I am going to need your help later."

"Oh?"

Illya nodded sadly.

"Remember I wrote my niece Katiya an excited letter all about her new Aunt Claire. I will need your advice I think, when I write to tell her that…tell her that…that…"

His lip quivered and his voice broke. He looked at me with tears behind his eyes. I nodded. No way could I leave him right now. After being unable to help him all week, I was staying beside him. I nodded.

"Come on my friend. I'm going to buy you a dinner, and then we'll go and visit your family."

END

 

**EPILOGUE**

**April Dancer:**

We went to Mildy's funeral a few days ago. I felt so sorry for the widow. Susie was so sweet to us all, but she has lost her entire world. Her twins, a little boy and girl are very cute, but they will grow up without their daddy. One good thing is that Illya's sister-in-law Jeannie Buchanan has chummed up with Susie Mildenhall, and helps her with the kids and they sit and cry together and compare photos and childhood stories. I think they are helping each other. I'm so glad for Susie too. She is coping better with her loss now that she has Jeannie to help her. I think Susie is helping Jeannie too, because before it seemed that all Jeannie was able to do was sit and think about losing her big sister. Now she is thinking about someone else as well as herself. It's good.

Claire's funeral was this morning. Illya was as white-faced as his shirt, and his eyes were bloodshot, but he was grim and managed to retain his Ice Prince image for the most part. His family, or rather, Claire's family are flying home tomorrow. They have extracted a promise from Illya to visit them for a week or so next time he has time off work. Whether he will or not, remains to be seen. Personally I hope so. We all need to feel the love of family around us sometimes, don't you think?"

**Mark Slate:**

I missed poor old Mildy's funeral, as I was still laid up in medical; but they let me up to go to Claire's memorial service so long as I would be obedient and sit in my chair like a good boy. I've never liked funerals, but I'm glad I went. Illya was so white-faced, I was almost scared for him. He'd obviously been crying, but he was every bit the Ice Prince of legend throughout the service. I felt for Napoleon too. The strain on him has been pretty bad considering everything. Imagine knowing that your partner is going through hell, and not only are you not allowed to give them the help and moral support they need, you have to pretend to fight and argue and fall out with them and spend a week ignoring them? I caught Napoleon in the cloakroom after the funeral, splashing cold water on his face, and I think he was trying to hide tears of his own. Sometimes I think it would be nice to do something dull and safe for a living; like, I don't know, skydiving or something?

**Joel Buchanan**

I lost a sister, but her husband Illya is a good bloke. I really hope he does come down to see us all sometimes. I don't know if he will despite his promises, but we are all hoping so. If he doesn't, Andy and I will be winging our way up to see him.

Jeannie has decided to stick around in New York for a while. She is a hair stylist, so she has a trade that people can use; and she has agreed to move in with Susie Mildenhall as a lodger. Susie has a spare room, and now she needs to work part time to help make her husband's pension go further, she needs someone to help out, especially with the babies. Jeannie adores kids, and they both seem happier now they are friends. Before I go I'll remind Illya that Jeannie is still around. Jeannie is a little young, but she has a good head on her shoulders. She also has very broad shoulders. Useful when you are feeling down.

**Alexander Waverly**

Just a quick note to say that I am very proud of the way my two top agents performed during this crisis. It was very hard on them both, but of course, especially for Illya.

Jill Watson has been thoroughly investigated by the Psychology department. She has been judged by three separate specialists as sane and fully aware of what she is doing, and fit to be tried. She has already been sent to our facility in Greenland, where she will be tried under UNCLE regulations, and if found guilty, as I am certain she will, she will be held there in maximum security.

Misters Solo and Kuryakin have another four days leave before they are due to return to work. I believe that I have a mission waiting for them that will serve to ease them back into their jobs. Not difficult or overly dangerous, but absorbing.

**Napoleon Solo**

I will tell you now, that when Illya and I finally got some time to ourselves after that confrontation on the roof, we both were in a state of shock. We sat on Illya's sofa, listening to the radio until a song came on that was one of Claire's favourites. I glanced at Illya, and finally he was crying. Not making any noise, but his hands were over his face and his shoulders were shaking. I tried to comfort him, but I found I had nothing to say. I was crying with him in the end. I hate seeing what awful things life has thrown at my partner. I just hope that one day Illya can be happy. Perhaps…

**Illya Kuryakin**

What is there for me to say after all of this? The happiest day of my life turned into a complete nightmare, and the nightmare seems to be stretching on and on and on and on…without Claire, how will it ever end?

Doctor Fergus from Psyche assures me that it is a normal part of grieving. I suppose I should be used to that by now, but I have found that however many people I lose it never gets any easier to live with.

I have a family now, who are desperate for me to keep in touch. I will try, because it is nice to be loved and wanted.

Napoleon, even though he feels bad about it, has been a rock for me. He always seems to turn up at my door when I am feeling low. Sometimes armed with just a smile, but he always leaves me feeling uplifted and more hopeful. I have come to the conclusion that my darling wife Claire was right all along.

Things are so much easier when you allow people into your life. When you let them help you. This is going to be hard for me, as I am by nature a loner. But I will try and let people in sometimes. In honour of my late wife.

For Claire.


End file.
